


Sins of the Father

by Pogue



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pogue/pseuds/Pogue
Summary: When a ghost from Deckard's past returns, he's going to need all the help he can get. Even if that help comes in the shape of a big, charming, and unbearably annoying ex-DSS agent.
Relationships: Luke Hobbs/Deckard Shaw
Comments: 292
Kudos: 444





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! So after lurking on the Shobbs fandom for a while and totally falling in love with the characters, I decided I'd try my hand at writing for the ship.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Deckard Shaw exhaled as he stepped over the threshold of his place of residence.

Despite popular belief, Deckard didn’t just live in a series of safe houses across the globe (although he did have those as well).

Tucked away in a small corner of Hampstead, Deckard has a house. It wasn’t big, just a one-bedroom accommodation with an open floor-plan that made it easy to escape or defend if needed. So far that hadn't been necessary. Because no one outside of his mother and siblings knew it existed.

“Jagger?” Deckard called out as he carefully removed his jacket. 

He winced as his shoulder screamed in protest. It had been a rough mission, and he didn’t come out quite as unscathed as Deckard normally liked.

When Deckard didn’t get a response, he stepped into the kitchen and refilled Jagger’s food dish.

Chances are the cat was over with the sweet elderly widow next door. Mrs. Abner’s poor vision and polite friendliness made for the perfect neighbor, especially when one was trying to keep a low profile. Plus she didn’t mind feeding and keeping Jagger company while Deckard was away for long stretches of time.

The thought of a nice hot shower drew Deckard to the bathroom. He stripped the rest of his clothes, silently bemoaning the loss of another perfectly good shirt to some knife-wielding terrorist, and glanced at himself in the mirror. Upon closer inspection, the damage wasn’t too bad. Possible bruised ribs, but nothing broken. And none of the cuts needed stitches.

The hot water hurt like a bitch at first, but any pain was quickly erased as the heat eased the soreness in Deckard’s muscles.

He pressed his hands against the tile and closed his eyes. Deckard could feel all the tension melting away as steam clouded the space, warming his lungs and loosening his throat with each breath. The invisible coil that seemed to stretch across his entire body slowly relaxed, allowing Deckard to reflect on the mission.

The official assignment had seemed easy enough. Some genius entrepreneur named Pierson went and got themselves kidnapped over a thumb drive. Apparently Pierson had developed a new location pinging software and was trying to sell it to the highest bidder.

Of course, when you try to make some underhanded money, you end up tangling with underhanded people.

Fortunately for Pierson, Mr. Nobody was interested enough in the software to enlist Deckard’s help in rescuing him.

But what should have been a simple extraction went haywire when it turned out the buyers had hired a small army to protect their base.

Deckard had faced worse odds in the past, but he definitely billed Mr. Nobody a few extra thousand when the mission was over. Having your torso nearly sliced open wasn’t in the original contract, Deckard thought as he absently ran a hand over where a bullet had grazed his shoulder.

He could have stayed under the shower head for at least another hour if his stomach hadn’t started growling.

It was always difficult to get enough to eat while on a mission.

Turning off the water with some regret, Deckard pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy-knit sweater as he walked back to the kitchen.

He had just opened the fridge and reached for the eggs when his phone vibrated.

Deckard saw his mother’s name flash across the screen before answering.

“Mum?”

“Someone blew up my restaurant.”

Deckard blinked in confusion. As far as he knew, his mother didn’t own any buildings. But then again, she had her secrets just like the rest of them.

“What are you on about?” He turned on the TV to the local news and was greeted with the remains of Trullo, Magdalene Shaw’s favorite restaurant. The news anchor described how the entire street had to be partitioned off as images of smoke, rubble, and splintered furniture flashed across the screen.

“They’re saying it was a gas leak.” His mother was saying. “But we both know that’s not a gas leak. This wasn’t an accident Deck.”

Deckard knew she was right. The explosion radius and property damage were far more reminiscent of strategic explosives. And the results were too devastating to have just been an accident. But even so, he found himself asking, “Who would want to blow up Trullo?”

“Isn’t that your job to figure out?” Magdalene snipped back. “You and your friends?”

Deckard rolled his eyes. His mother still hadn’t quite given up on the idea that he was still working with Dom and his crew. He’d told her again and again that it was a one-time deal. But he got the sense that maybe she just liked the idea of him having friends.

“They haven’t called me. I doubt anyone’s going to contact me over one small restaurant.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me Deck. This was a terrorist attack.”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes again, Deckard sighed. “I’ll look into it. But no promises.”

“That’s all I ask. Take care.” She blew a kiss over the line, and Deckard did the same before they each hung up.

He stared at the TV screen a moment longer before glancing back at Jagger’s untouched food dish.

“Jagg?” He called. It usually didn’t take this long for the cat to show up. Especially when there was the promise of food. The cat had impossibly good hearing and would have known Deckard was home by now. 

Picking up the dish, Deckard walked around the small house, occasionally giving the food a shake to entice Jagger to come out of hiding.

He was in the middle of returning to the kitchen when something in the backyard caught his eye.

Deckard stared out the window, not quite processing what he was seeing. Or perhaps not wanting to. He cautiously opened the back door and took slow measured steps to the middle of the small lawn where Jagger was lying motionless.

At a distance, he could already tell the cat wasn’t breathing. But it wasn’t until he got closer that Shaw saw the blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to literally everyone in the comments being mad that I killed the cat. I’m so sorry. Jagger will be avenged.  
> I hope all of you are staying as safe and healthy as possible. ❤️

"Sarah and Mica's parents got us a babysitter last night." Sam mentioned offhandedly as they drove home.

Luke glanced over. His daughter had that carefully blank look on her face that she got when she was planning something.

"Oh?" He offered. It wasn't a problem if her friends had a sitter, as long as it was someone responsible who was looking out for his girl. Someone who he would definitely be doing a background check on once they got home (just in case).

“Uh-huh.” She continued to look out the windshield, her voice light and casual. “Their parents were seeing a movie with friends.”

“Well that’s nice.” Luke flicked on his turn signal as they came up to their street. He liked it when Sam talked about things she and her friends did. He wanted to be the kind of parent she could trust. But right now he just didn’t know why she wanted to talk about other parents’ private lives.

“Do you think it’s nice?” She asked.

Luke’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course. Adults like to hang out with friends just as much as kids do.”

Sam turned and scrutinized him. “You don’t hang out with any of your friends.”

Oh, so _that’s_ what this was about.

“What are you talking about? I hang out with Dom and his crew.”

His daughter’s dark curls bounced as she shook her head. “Nuh-uh. You see them when you’re working a job together. Work friends don’t count.”

Luke was pretty sure that work friends _did_ count, but he could tell when his daughter was trying to make a point.

“He invites us to barbeques.” He protested as they waited for their garage door to slide open.

“He invites everyone to barbeques. Plus they’re still technically work friends.” Sam countered. “When was the last time you went out with a friend to just hang out?”

The garage creaked open as he drove the car forward, deep in thought. Luke didn’t realize this had been bothering his daughter. He knew it would be difficult for her to have a parent in law enforcement. He was on call around the clock, but worked hard to be there for Sam the same way other parents were for their kids. He hadn’t considered something like this would bother her.

"Hey now," Luke said. "I have friends. I talk to people outside of work."

Sam squinted; a challenge clear in her eyes. "Like?"

"Like…"

The opening chords to an Asia song vibrated from Hobbs' phone as it began to ring. It was like the universe decided to throw him a bone.

He smiled as the name 'Princess' flashed across the screen.

"Deckard. Deckard's a friend."

He avoided specifying that Deckard was _his_ friend, since the two of them had a slightly more complicated relationship. 

But he was sure Deckard was _someone's_ friend.

What was important was that Luke and Deckard weren't technically work associates.

Sam arched an eyebrow, staring unconvinced as Hobbs turned the call on to speakerphone.

"Hey there Shaw-shank. What's up buddy?"

His greeting felt both out of character and way too familiar at the same time, but there was no backtracking now. He could only brace himself for the mockery from Shaw that he probably deserved. 

"Did you, or did you not, break into my house and kill my cat?"

“What? Whoa--” Luke quickly took his phone off speaker and held the device to his ear. He was trying really hard to avoid Sam’s alarmed stare. “What are you talking about?”

It sounded like Shaw was digging for something. He grunted between breaths.

“Someone broke into my house last night. It looks like a professional job, nothing stolen. But whoever it was, they killed my cat. Was it you?”

“No!” Luke checked to make sure Sam wasn’t listening. She was still in the car. Good. “No, I did not kill you cat. I didn’t even know you had a cat.”

There was a quiet sigh on the other end. Like Shaw was relieved.

“I figured.” His voice crackled over the line. It sounded like he was walking somewhere. “I just needed to be sure.”

“Listen I know it sounds bad, but are you sure it wasn’t just some sick prank? Where do you live? I can come over and help.”

There was a long pause over the line. If Luke wasn’t so distracted by why Deckard called, he’d be thinking about how weird it was talking to him on the phone like this. Their relationship had always kept Luke on his toes, and he oddly liked it that way. Talking on the phone with someone who regularly threatened bodily hard (although rarely followed through) was totally new territory. 

“Shaw?” He tried again.

The silence carried on, giving Luke the sense that something was very very wrong.

“Deckard.”

“I’ll call you back.” Deckard finally said, hanging up before Hobbs even had a chance to respond.

* * *

Deckard’s phone hung forgotten in his hand as he stared into his garage.

A nagging voice had told him to check there. Tugging at his brain enough that he paused digging a grave for Jagger to look.

He wasn’t expecting to find the car. 

It was in perfect condition, looking exactly the same as the last time he’d laid eyes on it. A Phantom VI Rolls-Royce with faded-yellow sidings and a black top and hood. He didn’t have to look inside the car to confirm the dark leather seats and custom mahogany flooring. He just knew. He couldn’t forget this car even if he tried.

Deckard dialed the number without glancing at his phone.

As it rang, he stepped closer to the vehicle, staring in through the window, looking for anything unfamiliar or out of place that could quell the rising dread in the pit of his stomach.

“What?” Owen’s voice finally answered on the seventh ring.

“I need you.” Deckard said, his eyes landing on the garrote wire dangling from the rearview mirror. “Now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys get Owen content this chapter.  
> Thanks so much for the comments! You can find me at possiblypogue on tumblr!

“Deck?” Owen called as he entered the small house. He’d been there only once before, but from that alone he could tell the place had been turned over. Lamps dismantled, cabinets opened and emptied, even some cushions sliced apart.

He was lucky he'd been in town. Owen had just finished a job in Monaco when Deckard called. If he’d still been abroad it would have been at least a day before he could have gotten there.

"Out here." Owen heard his brother respond.

Deckard was standing outside his garage, arms crossed and gazing at a small, freshly dug mound of dirt under the tree.

"Did you trash your own place? Or was that somebody else?" Owen asked, walking over.

Deckard blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts and looked at Owen. "Someone's been here." 

"I can see that.” Owen rolled his eyes. “But why did it require calling me?"

The two of them stayed in touch, but their family was never the kind to just pop by for a cup of tea and chat. Stuff like healthy-communication and affection weren’t exactly characteristics that their parents nurtured. Deckard was always the one to offer hugs and words of encouragement when they were younger. He took a lot of bullets for his siblings, in more ways than one. A habit that never really went away.

"Because of this," Deckard said, stepping aside so Owen could enter the garage.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they did, Owen couldn't help the sharp intake of breath that escaped his lips.

“What the hell…” He stared at the car. Moving to different angles, trying to convince himself that it was a trick of the lighting. Why would Deckard have this? “Where did you find it?”

“It was parked in the garage when I got here.” A dark shadow hung over Deckard’s face that had nothing to do with the dimly lit garage.

“You’re saying that someone broke into your house, _didn’t take anything_ , and left this behind?”

“They also killed my cat.” Deckard said as he opened the driver’s door.

Owen thought back to the freshly dug earth outside and swallowed. “Why did you call me over?”

He had a terrible gut feeling that he already knew the answer.

“I need you to take a look.” Deckard gestured inside the car. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy in thinking exactly what we’re both thinking right now.”

Owen stared at the open car door like it might burn him. It was a perfectly normal reaction to have for a car he hadn’t seen in over two decades.

He felt Deckard’s eyes on him as he hesitantly slid into the driver’s seat. At first, he just stared at the garrote wire hanging from the rearview mirror. “Are those…?”

Deckard nodded.

Swallowing hard, Owen turned his gaze to the rest of the car. It was like stepping into the past. Every single detail was the same.

The angle of the side mirrors, the pocket-notepad in the driver’s side door, the tin of licorice mints tucked into the dash. Owen glanced at his brother before reaching under the passenger’s seat without looking and pulled out the glass bottle of water that he _knew_ would be there.

“Tell me I’m crazy.” Deckard seemed to plead.

Owen shook his head. “There has to be some other explanation.”

“The car is one thing.” Deckard said, tilting his chin towards the mint tin. “But everything else? No one besides our family would know to replicate those details.”

“Have you spoken to mother?” Owen thoughtfully tilting the water bottle back and forth, feeling its contents slosh with the movement.

“Not yet.” Deckard sighed. “I haven’t been too keen on telling her about dear old dad’s possible return.”

Hearing it said out loud didn’t make it feel any less surreal to Owen. 

“But... “He stared back at Deckard. “He’s dead.”

Deckard’s shoulders slumped fractionally. It was a movement that would have been lost to anyone besides family. “Do you have a better explanation?”

There was none, and Owen knew it. 

Deckard crossed his arms and leaned against the car. “Someone broke into my house, killed Jagger, and left this here to send a message.” Deckard rested a hand on the Rolls-Royce. “Add that to mum’s favorite restaurant being blown to smithereens? This feels very personal.”

Owen ran his hands over the steering wheel. He remembered it feeling a lot larger the last time he had done that. He’d been a lot smaller then. Back when he started fights and Deckard was the one to finish them.

Deckard did a lot for both his siblings back then. But Owen and Hattie were adults now. Their brother didn’t have to shoulder the burden on his own anymore.

“So, you named your cat Jagger?”

Owen watched Deckard turn and stare incredulously through the windshield. His confused stare morphed into understanding, and then amusement.

“I thought you’d have liked it.”

Owen shrugged as he climbed out of the car. “I just never took you for the sentimental type.” 

“Repeat that to anyone else and I’ll show you exactly what kind of type I am.” The threat was more out of habit than anything else, and both of them knew it.

Owen clapped Deckard on the back and leaned against the car with him. It should have been a calm, happy moment. But it was shadowed by the vehicle at their backs.

“What’s the plan?” Owen asked.

He felt the weary sigh that seemed to weigh his brother down. Deckard had just finished up a mission of his own. Coming back to this probably didn’t help alleviate the bone-tired ache that came from the kind of work he did.

“I’ll call our mother. I need you to meet up with Hat and find someplace safe until I come up with a plan.”

“She won’t like that.” Owen shook his head.

Neither of them could ever make Hattie do what she didn’t want to do. And sitting on the sidelines while her family might be in danger was not in Hattie’s nature. Nor was it in Owen’s. 

Sensing the oncoming argument, Deckard held up a hand. “I just need to know you both are safe until we’re ready to respond.”

“Respond.” Owen repeated. “That’s a very diplomatic way of putting it.”

Deckard’s mouth quirked up slightly. “We know what we’re up against. If he really is back, he might have some friends.”

“Speaking of friends,” Owen gave a pointed look. “Will you be contacting yours?”

“Not if I can help it.” Deckard rolled his eyes. “The last thing I need is Hobbs sticking his nose in our family business.”

Owen paused. “I was talking about Dominic Toretto and his team.” 

He liked watching his brother squirm a little after revealing what he thought about the ex-DSS agent. Then again, Deckard’s definition of ‘friend’ was different compared to the general population. The Shaw family wasn’t very good at developing long-lasting relationships.

Deckard huffed in annoyance. “I don’t know what mum’s been telling you, but Toretto and I haven’t spoken since we took down Cipher.”

“Well she’ll be happy to hear you consider Hobbs a friend.”

Owen smiled in response to the threatening stare his brother gave.

“How about you focus on keeping Hattie from hunting father down on her own, and leave my private life alone.” He said

“Oh so it’s a _private life_ now?” Owen teased and he sauntered backwards out of the garage. 

In response, Deckard threw a small wrench past his head. This was just the two of them playing. Owen knew if Deckard had wanted to hit him, he would have.

“Don’t do anything stupid without us.” Owen said, adopting a more serious tone again.

Deckard’s expression sobered as well. “I’ll try.”

That wasn’t a promise, but it was probably the best Owen was going to get right now.

* * *

“You should call him.” 

Luke turned to where Sam was doing her homework at the kitchen table. “What?”

Sam didn’t look up. “You keep staring at your phone. You should just call him.”

“If he needed something he’d get in touch.” Luke purposefully turned his phone over so the screen faced down on the coffee table.

He knew that wasn’t true. Shaw wasn’t one to ask for help. Even when Brixton threatened the entire world with genocide, Deckard had been adamant that he’d handle it alone. 

“Maybe he’s mad at you.”

That actually made Luke pause. “Mad at me? What would he be mad at me about?”

She looked up, rolling her pencil between her fingers. “You weren’t very condoling about someone killing his cat.”

“Condoling?” Luke stood, fighting back a smile as he walked over to sit next to his daughter. “Someone’s been practicing her vocab words.”

She smiled back and held up an index card with the word written on one side. Luke took the card as he sat down.

“Now I know you don’t know this about Shaw, but he’s not really the type to need someone to…” He glanced at the other side of the card. “Express sympathy towards, or grieve with him.”

Sam set down her pencil and rested her chin in her hand. ‘So why did he call you?”

Luke tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow. “Because Deckard Shaw is an annoying, prickly little bastard who thinks that accent makes him more charming than he actually is. When in reality he makes enemies as easily as some of us brew coffee in the morning. I’m sure I was just a name on a long list of people he had to call to check if he’d annoyed them recently enough to warrant them breaking into his house.”

Sam was smiling at him.

“What?” Luke asked.

“Nothing.” She turned her attention back to her homework. “You should call him.”

Luke didn’t like the smile she was sporting, especially since it usually meant trouble for him. But since Sam seemed to have said what she wanted to say, he found himself scooping up his phone and heading outside.

Deckard didn’t answer the first time he tried. He didn’t pick up on the third or fifth try either. When he was once again sent to voicemail after the sixth attempt, Luke was once again struck with the feeling that something was extremely wrong.

He weighed his options carefully before scrolling through his contacts and selecting a new number.

Ramsey picked up on the second ring. 

“Hobbs? Everything alright?” Her voice rang clearly across the line.

Luke smiled and looked across his backyard. “Everything’s fine. No end-of-the-world shit you need to worry about.”

“Oh…” Ramsey sounded both relieved and confused. “Then is there something I can help you with?”

“Now that you mention it, I do need a favor.” Luke was beginning to wonder if maybe Sam had a point about hanging out with friends outside of work. If everyone thought there was trouble whenever he called, he was probably doing something wrong. 

“Want me to contact Dom and the rest of the family?”

Luke had thought about this. If Deckard was in trouble, then it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra help. But if this was something minor, Shaw probably wouldn’t appreciate having an entire team breathing down his neck.

“Actually Ramsey, right now I just need you.” Luke said, hoping he was making the right call. “I was hoping you could boot up God’s Eye for me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's shown interest in the story so far!  
> Hope you're all staying safe and healthy.

When Deckard told Owen he wasn’t going to do anything stupid, he meant it.

But ‘stupid’ was a pretty subjective term.

Hotwiring a car at the age of seven was stupid. Trying to hunt down and face their father alone? That was just Deckard trying to protect his family.

Magdalene Shaw had taken the news that her husband might be alive surprisingly well. She’d been shocked at first, then returned to her cool and conspiratorial composure. 

_ “He’s the one that blew up my restaurant Deckard.” _ She’d said. _“He’s back and he’s coming after us.”_

Deckard wasn’t worried for his mother. He knew the second after their phone conversation ended, she’d be well on her way to disappearing. She was good at that. It’s what made her such a great spy.

Unfortunately, it also meant she was the kind of mother to disappear for weeks on end. Sometimes it would be for a job, other times she just didn’t want to be around. Growing up, Deckard never knew when she’d be back. He only knew it was his responsibility to take care of Owen and Hattie. 

He still considered that his job. Whether his younger siblings wanted it or not, Deckard was always going to keep them safe. And that included protecting them from their father.

And the best way to do that, was to give him exactly what he wanted.

The cemetery seemed as good a place as any to have it out. Hattie would have said Deckard was just being dramatic, but he thought it was only appropriate to face their decidedly-not-dead father over his own grave.

Plus, Deckard got the feeling their father would have had the same thought.

The name ‘ _Victor Shaw_ ’ was carved into the granite stone in front of him. Deckard remembered the day they buried him. It had been a closed casket. Owen had joked that they should have just cremated him since he was already half-way there. Mother boxed him on the ears for that one. But at the time, Deckard remembered thinking to himself that their father had _always_ been half-way there. Victor Shaw hadn’t been a kind man. And if Deckard believed in heaven or hell, he knew where their father belonged.

The glass tumbler felt cold in Deckard’s hand as he set it atop the stone and filled it with gin from a flask. The smell reminded him of nights filled with screaming matches and unfairly matched fights. A few of those nights ended with Deckard picking glass out of his or Owen’s hands.

He’d rather have smashed the glass against the granite, but Victor Shaw was always one for traditions.

Deckard exhaled, watching his breath float away in the chilled winter air.

The cemetery was empty. It had mountains on one side and buildings on the other. Either direction offered the perfect vantage point for a sniper.

“Come on you bastard.” He grumbled. “Where are you?”

Their father was obviously out for blood, and Deckard wanted to end it before his family got hurt. He just hoped Hattie and Owen would be able to forgive him for not letting them say goodbye.

“If I’d known you were having a picnic, I would have brought some sandwiches.”

Deckard spun around and stared at Luke Hobbs as he walked along the headstones towards him.

“What are you doing here?” He was surprised. This wasn’t part of the plan.

Hobbs pulled a thick jacket tighter around his shoulders. “Right now I’m freezing my ass off. The real question is, what are you doing here?”

He stopped next to Deckard and glanced at the grave. “Someone you know?”

“My father.” Deckard said distractedly.

He slowly spun around, eyes darting along the taller trees and buildings, looking for light reflecting from a scope.

Luke shifted. He obviously hadn’t been expecting to walk into this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was an asshole.” Deckard said. He thought he saw something reflect back at him in the trees, but he wasn’t sure. “You need to go.”

“Go? I just got here.” Luke frowned. “You called me acting like people were after you.”

Deckard glared up at him. “Yeah and I didn’t tell you to come rescue me now did I? Buzz off He-Man. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“What, is the groundskeeper going to come and kick my ass?” Hobbs made a show of looking around, like someone was going to jump out from behind a headstone.

He had no idea how likely that actually was right now.

“See that’s exactly why I don’t like you.” Deckard grumbled, poking an accusing finger into Hobbs’ chest, enunciating every word. “You don’t listen.”

In response, Hobbs puffed up his chest like a damn rooster. Not like he needed the extra height or anything. Deckard had a theory the larger man could snatch planes out of the air if he were so inclined. 

Hobbs tilted his head, as if contemplating Deckard’s words. “No, I listen. I’ve just fine-tuned my hearing abilities so it filters out all the bullshit.”

“Or maybe it’s because you were dropped one to many times as a baby and your brain swelled up so much it’s blocking your ear canals.” Deckard snapped back.

“You’re just jealous because I’ve _got_ a brain and you don’t.”

“The only thing I’m jealous of is-” The glass on top of Victor Shaw’s grave shattered into sparkling wet crystals.

The two men stared at where gin now soaked the tombstone.

Hobbs glanced at Deckard. “Did you see-”

Another shot rang out right as Deckard grabbed Luke’s jacket and threw the both of them to the ground.

Bullets struck the headstone, sending granite shards flying around them.

“Two gunmen.” Deckard said, pulling his own pistol from inside his coat. “Both firing from the west.”

“You were expecting this?” Hobbs demanded, unholstering a handgun of his own. Deckard had to admit, he appreciated Hobbs’ preparedness.

“I told you to leave!” He shouted over the gunfire. “But did you listen?”

“Why do these assholes want you dead?” Luke asked as the two of them tried to shelter behind the tombstone.

Deckard gritted his teeth. “Mind your own business King Kong.” He quickly rose to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.

Luke was yelling at him to get down, but Deckard ignored him. He knew he was giving the shooters a clear target, but it was the only way to determine their location. And with the sun at his back, Deckard knew he had a slight advantage. The gunmen would have to deal with the sunlight hampering their view, and the light would reflect off their scopes, giving Deckard just enough time to…

A reflective wink flashed from a tree. Deckard fired and then dropped back down behind the tombstone, straddling Luke’s lap.

Hobbs reflexively gripped Deckard’s hips, keeping him from jumping up again as another slew of bullets struck the granite. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I got one of them.” Deckard tried to pry himself loose with one hand while the other still held his gun. “Would you rather we do it your way and wait until they ran out of bullets?”

“I wasn’t going to-”

Deckard broke free and shot up again. This time the reflection of the scope was accompanied by a flash from the barrel. 

He winced as a bullet tore through his arm, but it didn’t stop Deckard from taking the shot. He saw the second body fall as Hobbs dragged him back down to the ground.

“Jackass.” Luke grumbled, pressing a big hand against Deckard’s shoulder to staunch the bleeding.

“He barely nicked me.” Deckard complained. The bullet had cut into the side of his arm but hadn’t hit bone.

Luke’s hand came back bloody. “‘Barely nicked’ my ass.” He shrugged off his jacket. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Oh _now_ you’re full of ideas.” Shaw winced as Hobbs hauled him to his feet. He was right though. Once his father found out the snipers he obviously sent had failed, he’d be quick to send more.

“I had plenty of ideas.” Luke snapped. “You just refused to slow down and hear them.”

Deckard pushed Hobbs away when the larger man tried to help him walk. “Sod off. The last thing I need is you getting involved.”

A big hand landed on Shaw’s bleeding shoulder, making him see stars as Luke spun him around.

“I’m already involved. I’ve been seen with you now. I can’t just walk away.” Luke spoke sternly as he pulled his jacket over Deckard’s shoulders to hide the bullet wound. “So it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

Hobbs clapped Deckard on the shoulder again as he began to march towards the cemetery’s exit. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and contact Dom.”

This time it was Deckard who reached out and pulled Luke to a stop. “No. Forget it. The more people who get involved, the more complicated this gets.”

“Complicated?” Hobbs raised an eyebrow. “As far as I can tell some bad guy wants you dead. That sounds like your regular Tuesday. What’s so complicated about that?”

“Because that ‘bad guy’ just happens to be my father.” 

If it were any other situation, Deckard would have enjoyed the surprised and bewildered expression on Luke’s face. But there was nothing funny about this.

“But…” Luke glanced back at the damaged headstone, then looked at Deckard. An obvious question hanging between them.

“Like I said.” Deckard muttered. “Complicated.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! I've been trying to plan ahead so you're not waiting too long for updates while I try to figure out what's going to happen.  
> Let me know if there're things you've enjoyed so far and/or would like to see in future chapters!

“I can’t believe you left him back there.” Hattie stormed into the safe house, leaving Owen to close the door behind them.

“You say that like I left him in an active war zone.” He complained. “He’s in Hampstead for god’s sake.”

Hattie forcefully sat down on the couch and crossed her arms. “If our father’s alive then everywhere just became an active war zone. Besides you know how Deck is.” 

Owen set their bags down and glanced around the space. Deckard’s Los Angeles safe house was one of the smaller ones he owned. It was a one-bedroom residence with an open floor plan. Which meant Owen and Hattie really didn’t have the privilege of giving each other space. 

“He said he wouldn’t do anything stupid.” He offered.

Hattie still refused to look at him. “And you believed him?”

This was going a lot better than Owen had anticipated, all things considered. Hattie had cut ties with both her brothers after Deckard was framed for killing his team. Owen hadn’t seen much of either of his siblings the entire time Deckard was on the run. That was eight years. Eight years of not talking and living completely separate lives. 

And if Hattie hadn’t been targeted by Brixton then they would probably still be avoiding each other. 

So really, Hattie ignoring Owen right now was probably the best he could have hoped for.

“If we don’t hear from him by the end of the day then we’ll go after him.”

That earned him a curt nod. 

The three Shaws had gotten together a few times after the whole Brixton situation. But it had never been just Owen and Hattie on their own. Deckard provided a comforting buffer between the two of them. Now with him gone, Owen was more acutely aware of the chasm that had developed between the two youngest Shaws.

Owen pulled open a cabinet and peered inside.

All of Deckard’s safe houses were stocked with dry foods and non-perishables. But he also always made sure there were a few shelves dedicated to tea and spices.

Smiling to himself, Owen pulled out a jar of loose-leaf tea and unscrewed the lid. It was an earl grey blend with a hint of vanilla. Hattie’s favorite.

As the electric kettle simmered to a boil, he prepared two mugs. The thought that Deckard kept his various safe houses stocked with items he knew his siblings liked, even during years of separation, tugged at Owen’s chest.

Their brother was always far more sentimental than he ever let anyone believe. Thanks to their father, Deckard got really good at hiding that trait. Owen knew that deep down, his brother had always held out hope that the three of them would be able to repair their relationship.

He wished that Deckard were here right now. He’d probably know how to fix things with Hattie.

Right now, Owen can only try his best.

“Here.” He set down a mug in front of Hattie. “It might still be a little hot.”

Owen turned to retreat back to the kitchen.

“O’?”

He paused, thinking maybe he was just imagining it. But then Hattie continued, her voice thick with emotions.

“He’s going to be okay.” She’d phrased it like a statement, because it wasn’t in Hattie’s nature to ask for reassurance, but Owen knew what she meant all the same.

He turned around, meeting Hattie’s shining grey eyes

“Yeah Hat, he’s going to be okay.”

* * *

They’d taken a train from London to Paris, then Paris down to Lyon, Lyon to Milan, Milan to Frankfurt (which had been the longest leg thus far), before Deckard and Luke boarded another train destined for Berlin.

“You know we could have made it to Berlin a lot faster if we went through Brussels instead.” Hobbs said, frowning at a pamphlet. He was decidedly unimpressed with their impromptu trek across Europe. “Why are we going to Berlin anyway?”

“I’ve got a safe house there.” Deckard settled into his side of the booth and rested his arms on the table between them. “Anyway, we’re not trying to get there fast. We’re trying to make it difficult for us to be followed.”

Deckard had always liked riding trains. Being able to sit and watch the trees go by with a cup of hot, mediocre but comforting tea close in hand. The people watching was also fun too. 

His father always treated it as a training exercise. Pushing Deckard and his siblings to gather as much information from the other passengers as possible with nothing more than a glance. Reading lips, following their fingers as they tapped across keyboards. ‘ _There was no such thing as idle time_ ,’ Victor always said, ‘ _only undisciplined people_.’

It took years for Deckard to un-learn those skills to the point where he only noticed those things if he _wanted_ to. Now he could watch civilians simply enjoy their lives, daydreaming out windows, or holding hands with loved ones. Things that were as foreign to Deckard now as they were when he rode the train for the first time as a child.

“Right, because your dead father is trying to have you killed.” Luke deadpanned, tossing the map next to their phones. “And why is that exactly?”

“It’s a long story.” Deckard said.

“We’ve been riding trains for over ten hours now.” Hobbs winced and stretched at the mention of exactly how long they’d been traveling. “It can’t be that long a story.”

A kind older woman who worked the dining cart was just rolling up to their table as Deckard spoke. “Well then maybe you should take the hint that it’s a story I don’t feel like sharing.”

“Good evening loves.” She smiled at the two. “Can I offer you anything?”

Deckard smiled politely up at her. “Just tea, thanks.”

After Luke shook his head the woman nodded and began pouring hot water into a thermos. She glanced between the two, noting the jacket around Deckard’s shoulders that was much too big for him.

“Away on holiday, are we?” She winked, setting two cups on the table.

“You could say that.” Luke smiled at her. It always annoyed Deckard how that smile seemed to completely charm the recipient. He silently vowed that smile would never work on him.

“There you go.” The kind woman set the thermos on the table between them. “You two enjoy your trip now.”

She shook her head as she pushed the cart along the rest of the train. “Such a lovely couple.”

“We’re not-” Deckard started to correct her, but she was already tittering away at the next table.

“Here.” Luke threw a snakeskin wallet on the table between them.

“Thanks, but it’s not really my style.”

Hobbs huffed and rolled his eyes. “I grabbed it off of one of the snipers you took out.”

Deckard flipped open the wallet. There were three separate ID cards (all different names) and seven hundred dollars in cash.

Hobbs leaned across the table. “Any of those names look familiar?”

“This one.” Deckard slid the ID between them. “Mitch Sawyer. It’s a fake name, but I worked with him under that moniker before. He’s a gun for hire, no loyalties to either side.”

“How do you know it’s a fake?” Hobbs picked up the card and examined it closer.

Deckard shrugged, wincing when the gesture tweaked his damaged shoulder. They’d only had enough time to clean the wound and stop the bleeding while waiting for their next train. “Any mercenary worth hiring has at least five false identities ready at any given moment.”

“Okay this isn’t a Mission Impossible movie.” Luke said as Deckard reached for his own wallet. “Even someone like you wouldn’t-”

The sound of plastic clacking against cheap linoleum stopped Luke short. He stared at the American driver’s license Deckard just set down.

“Jensen Taylor?” Luke picked up the card and read the name.

“When it suits me.” Deckard nodded as he pulled out another ID. “Right now, we’re on our way to the residents of Jonas Bishop.” He waved a German driver’s license in front of Hobbs’ face as he snatched the other one from his large hand.

Luke stared in disbelief. “Do you have a false identity for all your safe houses?”

“Not all of them.” Deckard tucked the cards back into his wallet. “Just the main ones.”

“Obviously _._ ” Hobbs said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Only paranoid people have fake IDs for _all_ their safe houses.”

“Yeah well without those safe houses we’d be well and fucked, now wouldn’t we?” Deckard said as he unscrewed the cap of the thermos. 

“Whatever.” Luke glanced out the window. “And for the record, I got the last word.”

Deckard paused pouring himself a cup of tea. “What?”

The larger man was still staring out the window, like the conversation didn’t interest him in the slightest. “Back there in the cemetery before the shootout. I got the last word in.”

Deckard firmly set the thermos back down. “You did not! I was-”

“You didn’t finish your thought.” Hobbs shrugged. “Didn’t count.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“There you go again, trying to get the final word in.” Luke leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to find a comfortable position in his seat. Which was a difficult feat considering the railways didn’t usually account for transporting ogres. 

Deckard crossed his arm, working his jaw. He considered responding, but he got the feeling that was exactly what Hobbs wanted.

Instead, he turned and stared out the window as well. The German countryside sped past them in a flurry of trees and snowcapped mountains. There was snow in the forecast, which meant by tomorrow everything would be covered. Deckard liked the view; he just wasn’t too keen on being stuck in a potential blizzard.

“How did you find me anyway?” He found himself asking.

“God’s Eye.” Luke answered without opening his eyes. “Ramsey owed me a favor.”

Deckard’s phone sat accusingly next to Hobbs’ device. He’d forgotten about Mr. Nobody’s little detection system. “But if you were able to find me using that…”

Suddenly the train seemed far less peaceful. The other passengers peering out windows or playing on their devices became a threat merely because they carried phones. As long as he and Hobbs surrounded themselves with people, they were in danger.

Deckard carefully picked up the thermos and poured it over his and Luke’s phones.

At the sound of something spilling, Luke stirred. When his eyes blearily landed on his crackling phone, he bolted upright.

“What the hell, Shaw?”

Deckard cracked open the train window and tossed their phones. Luke’s protests became white noise as he rose and looked in both directions before heading towards the back of the vehicle. “We have to get off this train.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and been supportive of this story so far! Keeping busy with this fic has certainly helped keep me somewhat grounded amidst everything going on.  
> I hope you are all doing alright. <3

Shaw?” Hobbs clumsily slid from the booth and followed after Deckard. “Shaw!”

But the smaller man didn’t respond. He just kept maneuvering train car to train car until they reached the last cargo cart.

“Deckard!” Luke grabbed at his arm and spun him around. “What is going on?”

Shaw pulled himself free of Hobbs’ grasp and glared up at him. “If Ramsey can find us with God’s Eye, then Victor can too.”

“Or, we could use it to find your father!” Luke argued. This was why he hated working with Shaw. He wasn’t a team player. If they’d just stayed in the booth (with their phones intact) they could have had a rational conversation and come up with a plan together.

Deckard pinched the bridge of his nose, as if mustering previously untapped patience. He acted like he was talking to a five-year-old.

“You can’t just type ‘Victor Shaw’ into God’s Eye like you’d google an ex. It uses existing data to locate someone. The man after us was declared dead over two decades ago. What data could Nobody possibly use to find him?”

He did have a point, Luke thought. “But no one besides Ramsey and Mr. Nobody has access to it.”

Deckard shook his head. “You have no idea what my father is capable of.”

“Maybe because you refuse to tell me.”

There was something different about the look in Deckard’s eye. He’d always had the quality of being constantly on edge. But now, there was something more feral in the way his eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape. Almost like fear.

“Tell you what She-Hulk,” Deckard said, snatching up two backpacks from a shelf and tossing one to Hobbs. “I’ll start talking once we’re both off this train. How’s that?”

If it’d been any other day, under normal circumstances, Luke would have protested Shaw stealing someone else’s luggage. But right now, he had other things to worry about. “The next stop isn’t for another two hours.”

Deckard slid open the side door. “Who said anything about stopping?”

Chilled mountain air burst throughout the cargo car, making loose paper and material fly around like the contents of a snow globe. 

“Are you crazy?” Luke shouted, instinctively gripping one of the rails on the wall.

Deckard shrugged and called over the din. “Do we have a deal?” 

Luke knew that Shaw was still doing that thing where he made plans without consulting anyone else. But if staying on the train meant they were still in danger, then getting off as soon as possible was the right call. Plus, it meant he’d gain valuable information on the man hunting them.

Groaning in frustration, Luke pulled the backpack over his shoulders and fastened the clamp in the front. When he looked back up, he could have sworn he caught Deckard smiling.

“You ready to fly, big guy?”

“Just don’t complain when you break your back on the way down.” Luke grumbled as he stepped up to the opening. He paused, taking a step away and glaring at Shaw. “You aren’t going to stay up here after I jump again, are you?”

Luke was surprised at the laugh that escaped Shaw’s lips. 

“You just don’t trust me, do you?”

Before he had time to respond, Deckard turned and leapt from the car, disappearing as the train continued to speed along its path.

For a brief moment, Luke considered staying on the train. Just going back to their booth and enjoying the scenic view from the safety of their heated car.

But then he imagined Deckard wandering the German wilderness all alone. With no tea and crumpets for nourishment, he probably wouldn’t last a day out there. It was pathetic really. And Hobbs wasn’t in the mood to have that on his conscience.

“Damn it.” He muttered, hesitating only a second longer before jumping from the train.

The earth flew up to meet him, knocking the wind from Luke’s lungs as he rolled down the slope away from the tracks.

Luke let out a pained ‘Oof’ with each rotation and impact until he finally slowed to a halt with a little help from a fallen tree. It took a few more minutes for his surroundings to stop spinning like the contents of a kaleidoscope. Once things stilled, Luke promptly rolled over and threw up. Rollercoasters and theme park rides were never his thing. 

Propping himself up against the log, Luke took in his surroundings. He could barely hear the train anymore. Fortunately with the sun still high in the sky he didn’t have to worry about stumbling around in the dark.

“Shaw?”

Nothing.

At first Luke genuinely considered if it was possible that Deckard had somehow managed to get back on the train and this had all been part of some wild plan to ditch his ass in the middle of nowhere. Luke could absolutely picture Shaw back in their booth, sipping his tea with that damn smirk of his. The bastard.

Then he was struck with the mental image of Deckard lying crumpled at the bottom of the hill somewhere, blood dripping from where his head struck a rock on the way down.

“Shaw!” Luke stood and looked around. Deckard jumped first, so he’d be a little further back. 

His legs wobbled slightly with the first couple steps, but it didn’t slow Luke down as he began to move. However, after a few minutes he stopped again. 

This was dangerous. Luke had led Sam’s Girl Scout troop on enough camping trips to know that wandering in the woods without a clear sense of direction would only make things worse. 

But if Deckard was hurt, Hobbs couldn’t just stand still and do nothing. 

“Pity you didn’t die.” Luke spun around, spotting Deckard as the smaller man appeared behind him. “I was hoping to use your body for sustenance.”

Luke tucked away the unexpected feeling of relief that came over him and instead chose to glare. “How did you manage to find me?” 

Shaw waved a hand at him. “You kept squeaking like a chew toy the entire time you rolled down the hill. To be honest, I’m surprised you actually jumped.”

“And I’m surprised your body didn’t get crushed like a tin can on your way down.” Luke retorted, but at the same time tried to subtly scan Deckard for any injuries.

He looked fine, although Hobbs’ jacket did a pretty good job at concealing most of Shaw’s torso.

“So what’s the next move?” He found himself asking. Because traveling across Europe and jumping from moving trains were never part of his plan. This was all Deckard.

The smaller man readjusted his stolen backpack and pointed away from the tracks. “We travel north for a bit to make sure no one’s following us. Then we set up camp for the night.”

“The night?” Luke looked up at the heavy clouds collecting overhead. “You want to sleep out here?”

“Aw, is She-Hulk scared of getting a little cold? Worried we might get attacked by wild animals?” Deckard bent down to refasten his doc martens before standing and continuing to march down the hill. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be much bigger than anything we encounter out here.”

Luke glanced back toward the railway tracks, wishing he’d just stayed on the train. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

He gave a final sigh before trekking after Shaw. “Lead the way, Princess.”

* * *

“Draw four.”

Owen groaned and plucked more cards from the deck sitting between them. “I swear you’re cheating.” He played a Red Four.

“You can’t cheat at Uno.” Hattie shook her head. “Speaking of which,” She set down a card, waving the last remaining one in her hand. “Uno.”

“You, most,” He set down a Skip, then two Reverse cards, enunciating each syllable with another devastating discard. ”certainly, can.” 

The last one he set down was a Draw Four, leaving him with one card left. “Uno.”

Hattie slumped back against the couch. “I like it better when Deckard plays.”

“Why? Because he lets you win?” Owen smiled as a pillow struck his face.

“He does not!” 

Owen swung the pillow back at her, which Hattie effortlessly snatched out of the air and propelled back at him. They both knew Owen could have blocked it if he wanted, but he figured he owed her a couple free-throws.

He was just happy that Hattie hadn’t spent the past few hours twiddling her thumbs and worrying about Deck.

“You’re just mad because I’m winning.” She said.

“Au contraire,” Owen reached for his card. “Have you forgotten about…”

He stared at what should have been a single card in his hand. Instead, there were five cards, and none of them matched what he’d had before.

A cough brought Owen’s gaze back up to his sister, where she was sitting cross-legged, with a suspiciously innocent look on her face while holding only one card.

“Problem?” She cocked her head to the side.

Owen rolled his eyes and reorganized his new hand. “Nope.”

He could see Hattie’s smirk out of his peripherals as she relaxed into the couch.

“And you claim _Deck_ is the softie.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Owen’s mouth. These were the kind of moments he’d missed. Quiet evenings alone with his siblings, teasing each other while they played low-stake games, and not having to worry about anyone causing them harm.

“O.’” Hattie whispered.

He nodded. “I know, it’s my turn.”

“Not that. I think there’s someone here.”

Owen looked up. Hattie was sitting up straight, her eyes wide as she tilted her head like she was listening for something.

He stilled, listening too. It was quiet. Almost too quiet for the LA suburbs where they were hiding.

The sound of car doors being quietly shut spurred the siblings into action.

Owen remained low and out of sight as he moved about the house, turning off all the lights. Meanwhile Hattie retrieved their duffle bags from the bedroom and brought them behind the couch where he was crouching.

“Any chance it’s Deck?” Hattie asked, handing Owen his bag and pulling two handguns from her own.

“He would have contacted us ahead of time.” He responded, unzipping his bag, revealing an assortment of weapons, including some grenades.

Owen pulled out an assault rifle and used the night-vision scope to scout the possible threats.

“Five of them.” He said, tracking the figures through the window as they approached the house. “Hard to say what weapons they’ve got.”

Hattie slid fresh clips into her pistols. “We’ve dealt with worse.”

“That we have.” Owen smiled. “They’re nearly at the door. On three?”

“One,” She leveled her weapons at the door.

Owen kept his eye against the scope, making sure they wouldn’t be taken by surprise. “Two.”

The doorbell rang, causing both Shaws to pause in confusion.

Then the front door was blown off its hinges, filling the room with splinters and debris.

He shielded his face, seeing Hattie do the same out of the corner of his eye. 

Dark figures began entering the safe house.

Owen leveled his rifle on one of the shapes crossing the threshold, and fired.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support for this story.  
> I wasn't expecting to get this kind of response from such a small fandom, but you guys are really wonderful!  
> I hope you are doing well. <3

Owen heard a satisfying yelp as his shot hit its target. A body fell to the ground, seeming to send the assailant’s counterparts into a panic.

“Don’t shoot!” A feminine voice shouted. 

Owen blinked. Why did that voice sound familiar?

Suddenly the lights were on again. He shielded his eyes, allowing a second to adjust before raising his gun to face the intruders. 

He wasn’t expecting to see Letty. And he definitely wasn’t expecting to see Dominic Toretto and the rest of his crew standing in the middle of their safe house.

“Hands where I can see them!” Hattie shouted, aiming her guns at Dom and one of his other friends.

“We’re not armed.” Hattie trained one of her pistols on the new speaker, an English woman who quickly raised her hands above her head.

None of the rest of the crew moved aside for the man lying crumpled in the doorway. He was rocking back and forth, clutching his shoulder. “That shit hurt, man!”

“I barely nicked you.” Owen snapped, but his eyes remained focused on Letty. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Hobbs.”

Letty met his gaze like she always did, without fear. It was one of the reasons Owen liked her. She had an unshakable composure that reminded him of Hattie. But it had been a while, and their friendship did not end on a positive note. The last time Owen saw Letty was when he’d jettisoned her off the tank. When he still had a whole, unscarred face.

“So naturally you hunt us down?” Hattie kept her weapons raised. “Who are you people anyway?”

Right, she’d never officially met.

Owen glanced at his sister. “Hat, this is Dominic Toretto and the rest of his team.”

“Toretto?” Hattie paused. “Weren’t they the ones to…”

At his nod, Hattie fired another shot directly between Dom’s feet. To his credit, the man didn’t even flinch.

“Hey!” Letty shouted and moved so she became a barrier between the Shaws and her family. She always had a habit of standing between bullets and the people she loved. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

“Bit late for that.” Owen slowly lowered his rifle. “You still haven’t explained why you sought us out.”

“Actually, we were looking for your brother.” Another man spoke. Owen recognized him from the files he’d compiled the first time he faced Toretto and his team. The name Tej surfaced from his memory.

Owen felt Hattie tense next to him, pointed the gun at Tej now. “What are you talking about?”

The woman with the accent raised her hands again from where she’d begun to relax. “Hobbs called, asking me to help him find Shaw. Nearly twenty-four hours later, both of them have gone off the grid. None of us can find them, not even with God’s Eye.”

“Oh, I get it,” Hattie leveled the gun on her. “And you think Deckard’s to blame.”

“That’s one possibility.” Dom’s low rumbling voice filled the space. His head tilted back as he stared Owen down. Clearly, this wasn’t a pleasant reunion for him either. “Or whoever was after Shaw might have gotten to both of them.”

Owen cursed under his breath as Hattie rounded on him and this time fired a shot at the ground between his feet. “I told you he was in trouble!”

He raised his hands defensively. “Hat-”

“Don’t you ‘ _Hat’_ me! Our brother is in trouble. And if we just went after him at the start, then maybe he wouldn’t be missing right now.”

“Brother?” The man on the ground, who Owen absently remembered was named Roman, sat up and stared at Hattie. “How many Shaws are there?”

“Too many.” Dom said.

Owen took a step forward, smirking as Toretto did the same. He’d been itching for a fight ever since he saw that car sitting in Deckard’s garage.

“Stop it!” Letty pressed a hand against Dom’s chest and sent a warning glare at Owen. “We’re not here to fight.”

“Pity.” Owen smiled when Toretto leaned heavily against Letty’s touch, testing to see if she’d let him go. But Letty was stronger than she looked, and she held him back without trouble.

“We’re on the same side here.” The English woman cut in, clearly not comfortable with guns being waved around. She must be new.

“Ramsey’s right.” Tej added from where he was tying a bandana around Roman’s arm. “We’ll have a better chance of helping Hobbs _and_ Shaw if we work together.”

Owen glanced at Hattie. Even years of anger and separation couldn’t dampen their ability to communicate through just a look alone. The Shaws were never that good at playing with others. But right now, Deckard needed them, whether he cared to admit it or not.

Hattie sighed and lowered her guns. “Fine. What can we do to help?”

* * *

Deckard slumped down on a fallen log and stretched, feeling his legs whine in protest. 

“We’re setting up camp here?” Luke was still standing, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area.

It was a small clearing surrounded by brush and saplings. They probably wouldn’t find anything better for miles.

“If you want to go tripping around in the dark, be my guest.”

Hobbs frowned at the setting sun like it betrayed him. Maybe he thought if he glared at it long enough it would offer up a few more hours.

But not even Hobbs could stop planetary rotation.

With a defeated sigh, Luke sat down next to Deckard. “Well I hope you brought some damn marshmallows.”

“I didn’t, but maybe our dear patrons did.” He replied, unzipping one of the backpacks he’d stolen.

There was a flashlight and extra batteries in this first pouch, but no food. The good news was, there were some clothes in the main compartment. A flannel shirt and some Henley’s. 

“Here.” Deckard shrugged off Luke’s jacket, handing it back to the larger man as he unbuttoned his shirt. The wind bit at his exposed skin, making Deckard shiver.

He was in the middle of shrugging off the shirt and pulling on the Henley when Luke spoke.

“You’re hurt.”

Deckard glanced to where Luke was staring. His bullet wound had started bleeding again after he jumped from the train. “It’s fine.”

Hobbs pushed. “You should have said something. What if it gets infected?”

“Don’t worry.” Deckard snapped, pulling the flannel on before the larger man could touch the wound. He made sure not to wince as the motion sent a bolt of pain up his arm. “I wouldn’t make you carry me or anything.”

“That’s not what I-” Luke frowned and shook his head. He had a habit of cutting himself off, and Deckard was beginning to wonder exactly what the big guy was thinking.

“So nothing useful?” Hobbs said, gesturing to the backpack as he pulled on his jacket. 

“Speak for yourself.” Deckard said, adjusting the flannel. “What about your bag?”

Luke tugged the backpack from his shoulder and unzipped the front. He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I doubt any of this is going to be useful,” Hobbs pulled lingerie out of the bag, holding it between his thumb and index finger. “Unless of course you want to tell me something…”

“Very funny.” Deckard rolled his eyes rummaging around in his bag some more. There were some binoculars at the very bottom. “What kind of romantic getaway did these two have in mind?”

Luke took the binoculars and stood, surveying the surrounding area. “Whatever it was, we ruined it now.”

“Never took you for the romantic type.”

“Yeah well there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Luke pulled the binoculars away from his eyes. “Speaking of which…”

Hobbs was watching him expectantly. Deckard wondered if that was the same casual, yet probing stare that he used in interrogation rooms. 

Right, their deal. 

Deckard mulled over details about his father, trying to come up with something safe to share. Something that couldn’t be used against him later. How much should he actually tell?

“My father was not a kind man.” He began. 

Luke snorted, but had the decency to look somewhat apologetic after. Deckard sent him a warning glare before continuing. “When me and my siblings were younger, he’d put us through little… tests. He had different ones planned once we reached specific ages.”

“Childhood milestones.” Hobbs offered. “Like first camping trips and Boy Scouts?”

He had gone back to looking through the binoculars, which Deckard silently appreciated. It was easier to talk about this kind of thing without direct eye contact.

“Something like that.” Deckard continued. “Except on my first camping trip, the only thing he packed was a box of matches.” He could feel the confused stare bearing down on him, but Deckard refused to look up.

“We stayed out in the woods for two weeks. I was six.”

Luke gave a slow whistle. “So he was a criminal _and_ one of those tough-love survivalist types?”

Deckard leaned forward, plucking loose branches and dry foliage up off the ground. “I guess you could say that.”

He was pretty sure love had nothing to do with how Victor treated his kids. They had always been soldiers in his eyes. Machines he could train and program into whatever he thought he needed.

Their needs never factored into his plans.

“Sounds like he wasn’t easy to get along with. Probably made quite a few enemies.” Hobbs noted. Deckard could practically hear him building a file on Victor in his head.

“That’s one way to put it.” He scoffed. “Pretty sure you could fit all his enemies in a small-.”

“-Village.” Luke said.

He shook his head. “Nah, he wouldn’t let that many of them live.”

“No.” Luke pointed. “There’s a village down there.”

Deckard stood, scanning the area Hobbs was pointing to until he spotted little pinpricks of light.

“So?”

“So,” Luke gave him a side-long stare. “We can go down there and find food and provisions, maybe even a place to sleep.”

Deckard glared up at Hobbs. “Do you not understand the concept of staying off the grid?”

“This place looks low-risk.” Luke squinted through the binoculars again. “Jesus, someone just lit a room using a candle down there. Where the hell did you take us?”

“I didn’t take us anywhere.” Deckard snapped. “And I’m not _going_ to take us anywhere, because populated areas are exactly the kind of thing we’re trying to avoid!”

“We’ll be careful.” Luke gestured toward his wounded shoulder. “Besides, we need to get that cleaned up before you get an infection.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Deckard wasn’t expecting Hobbs to reach out and squeeze his shoulder, eliciting a pained hiss.

“I don’t care if you’ve had worse.” Luke stated. “It doesn’t mean you have to grin and bear it now. We’re going down there and getting that taken care of.”

He gave one final squeeze before letting go.

Deckard imagined snapping Hobbs’s arm in half, then breaking one of his tree-trunk legs and leaving him to fend for himself in the woods. He could do it too, without breaking a sweat.

But Deckard wasn’t in the habit of turning his back of allies, no matter how tentative that alliance might be. It never hurt to have someone watching his back, even if that person was Luke Hobbs.

“Hey!” Luke snapped his fingers. “You still with me Princess?”

Deckard slapped his hand out of the way. “Yeah I heard you, asshole.”

“Good.” Luke turned towards the village in the distance. “Then let’s get going.”

Maybe if he just threw a stick, or a really soft rock at his head, Deckard thought. That way he wouldn’t _actually_ hurt Hobbs, but still get the satisfaction of letting out a little pent up aggression.

Deckard pulled on his backpack, wincing at the burning feeling coming from his arm. Maybe antibiotics weren’t such a bad idea.

They’d just have to be careful. They could do that.

With that thought in mind, he began trudging after Hobbs.

* * *

“Draw Four.”

“Come on, man!” Roman waved the stack of uno cards in his hands. “This ain’t fair, you’re ganging up on me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hattie smiled, toying with her two remaining cards.

She could just make out a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Owen’s mouth as he focused on his own hand. She also didn’t miss that her brother positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the trio in the kitchen. Ramsey and Tej had set up a glorified computer hub in the kitchen, and Dom was standing close by with his arms crossed.

Hattie was sure Owen had also noticed how she’d strategically sat on the side of the couch where she knew Deckard had hidden a few emergency weapons. Knives always fit so perfectly pressed between seat cushions.

“I was expecting dirty tactics from these two,” Roman pointed a finger between Hattie and Owen. “But from my own team member?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you just suck at this game?” Letty grinned, tapping a finger against the three cards in her own hand.

“Dom!” Roman called over to the kitchen. “Can you tell your wife to stop siding with the enemy?”

Dom glanced over, his eyes softening for a moment as he spoke.

“Come on Rome, you know better than trying to get Letty to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” He glanced at Hattie and Owen. “And something tells me the same can be said for those two.”

Hattie didn’t have any personal experience with Dominic Toretto. But from today alone, she could tell he was far more perceptive than he let on. And his team was incredibly loyal. In Hattie’s experience, that kind of devotion wasn’t usually dedicated to someone who didn’t deserve it.

However, it was hard to forgive or forget that this was the same team that put Owen in the hospital and Deckard in prison.

And from the way Letty’s grin faltered the moment she caught Owen’s eye; Hattie got the sense that these people hadn’t quite forgotten the past either.

“This is impossible.” Ramsey signed from the kitchen. “It’s like both of them just disappeared into thin air.”

Tej glanced over his shoulder at Owen and Hattie. “This would be a little easier if we knew all the places Shaw liked to hide.”

“You mean like the locations of all his safe houses?” Owen tilted his head, like the idea had just occurred to him.

“Well, yeah.” Tej waited expectantly.

“So that once this is all over you can use that information against Deckard?” Owen kept the same inquisitive stare, but his eyes had gone cold. 

Ramsey rolled her head back and groaned. “We’re not after your brother. We’re just trying to help, which you are making increasingly difficult!”

She stared imploringly at the two siblings. “At least tell us who’s after him.”

Hattie glanced over her cards and met Owen’s eyes. She didn’t see any harm in these people knowing about their father. They were going to find out eventually anyway. Besides, if it meant they could find Deck a little faster, then all the better.

Owen eventually shrugged and gestured for her to take the lead.

“The man you’re looking for is Victor Shaw.” Hattie waited until she could see the obvious question rise to the forefront of everyone’s mind. “He’s our father.”

“Hold up.” Roman raised a hand, not caring that his cards were hanging completely visible in the other. “Your _father_? What, did Daddy Shaw just flip a switch one day and decide he wanted to kill his own son? I mean y’all are a prickly bunch, but you gotta be damn cold to kill your own kid.” He nudged Owen.

It was a hell of a way of simplifying things, but he wasn’t wrong, Hattie thought to herself.

“So then we use God’s Eye to find your dad.” Tej turned back to his computer.

Owen set down his cards, the game abandoned. “You won’t find anything.” 

“And why is that?” Dom turned to face him. 

The two of them were itching to fight, Hattie could feel it. But their rivalry was only getting in the way right now.

“Because our father’s been dead for the past twenty years or so.” She answered.

Another confused silence fell over the room.

“Wait…” Roman raised his hand again, but Tej cut him off.

“She’s right.” He was looking at a death certificate on his computer screen. “This says he died in a car fire.”

Hattie snorted, but composed herself when she caught Letty staring.

She wasn’t very good at interacting with other women without feeling like she was competing for something. Growing up with only brothers didn’t help, especially with their childhood being what it was. And training for the MI6 didn’t exactly foster the ability to develop relationships beyond what was necessary.

But from what Owen had shared, Hattie got the sense that Letty wasn’t that great at making friends either. So at least they were on equal playing fields there.

“Well without any recent information I don’t think God’s Eye will be any use to us.” Ramsey sighed. “We could try digitally aging an old photograph, but that would offer a margin of error when trying to locate him.”

“So if we got our hands on a recent picture, then we could find him?” Dom asked.

As if it were that easy, Hattie thought to herself.

Ramsey shrugged. “A video would be better, but yes, that’d at least be a start.”

“So why isn’t Dad Shaw going after either of you?” Roman asked, gesturing between Owen and Hattie.

The two siblings glanced at each other, trying to determine what they could share that wouldn’t be used against them later.

“If he knew where we were, he’d probably try to hunt us down too. But Deck is the one our father wants.” Hattie picked at the corner of her cards before tossing them down on the table. Two Wild cards. Which was exactly what she and Owen were right now. In the hands of their father, she and O’ would become their brother’s greatest weakness. But if they could just help Deckard, if he would just _let_ them help...

“Again,” Dom interrupted her thoughts. “Why Deckard?”

Hattie and Owen shared another look. A secret had hung between the Shaw family ever since they were teenagers. One that was never specifically determined a secret, but rather an unspoken truth they agreed to never address.

But that truth didn’t matter all that much right now.

Hattie shrugged. _In for a penny..._

Owen worked his jaw. For a moment, she thought he was going to disagree with her. But eventually he sighed and begrudgingly met Dom’s gaze.

“Because Deckard’s the one who killed him.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's weekend is going alright! This update should be mostly fun for you guys (with a little more info on Victor Shaw peppered in).  
> Stay safe out there.

A wooden sign partially hidden beneath the snowfall welcomed them to the town of Wernigerode.

“You know anything about this place?” Luke asked, glancing around at the surrounding buildings. It looked like something out of The Sound of Music.

“All I know is we’re someplace in central Germany.” Deckard spoke from behind him.

Luke looked back at the smaller man. Deckard’s arms were wrapped tightly around himself, trying to keep out the cold. He’d been less snippy since they started trekking to the village. In fact, he only really spoke when Luke addressed him.

It had been a nice change at first, but Luke was starting to miss their banter.

“Well the good news is, I don’t see any security cameras.” He offered, trying to fill the silence. “In fact, I haven’t seen even as much as an ATM since we got here.”

When he still got silence, Luke took another look at Shaw. He had the growing suspicion that he was sulking. Luke had been on the receiving end of Sam’s moping enough times to know.

Except Sam was a kid, and Shaw was an adult. If he gets a little fussy when someone pushed him around then that’s just tough.

But then he noticed the way Deckard was cradling his injured shoulder.

Luke had gripped him a little tighter than necessary. Maybe it hadn’t been the right call, but he didn’t have any other way to make Shaw listen.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, continuing down what looked to be the main street.

“What?” Deckard asked.

Luke sighed and gestured to his own arm. “I’m sorry for grabbing you.”

He heard the footsteps stop behind him. “That’s what you think this is about?”

“I don’t know.” Luke waved his arms in exhaustion as he turned to face Shaw. 

Amidst the falling snow, Deckard looked tired. His chest rose and fell from ragged breathing. But despite all that, he still managed an impressive glare.

Despite the chilled response, Hobbs continued. “I never know what you’re thinking. I’m just trying my best here.”

For a second, he thought he saw something close to surprise or gratitude flash across Deckard’s face. That is, as close to gratitude as Hobbs assumed the other man was capable of.

But then the glare returned as Shaw shouldered past him. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you dragged me into a populated area when we’re trying to avoid being found.”

Luke didn’t mind the shoulder-check. In fact, he considered it a good sign. If Deckard was back to his usual snippy self, then hopefully it meant he accepted the apology.

“Speaking of populated,” Deckard said. “Where is everyone?”

“It _is_ in the middle of the night.” Luke pointed out.

The town was lit by metal lamps lining the street. The only other light came from a neon blue ‘Vacancy’ sign that glowed from a two-story building.

Luke tilted his head toward the entrance. “Shall we?”

He could tell Deckard wanted to argue. His jaw always tensed and he tended to plant his feet like he was preparing for a physical fight. But after a moment, Shaw sighed and nodded.

“After you.”

The door to the hotel was unlocked, giving way to a dimly lit lobby that reminded Luke of something out of a history book. If a hotel looked like this in LA, the owners would make a killing capitalizing on the ‘vintage’ theme.

Except this place didn’t feel themed. Luke got the feeling the hotel hadn’t been renovated or remodeled since the last World War.

“Nice place.” Deckard commented. He’d gone from checking for security cameras to admiring the polished wood banister and matching front desk. His eyes even strayed to the worn yet maintained wine red carpet beneath their feet.

Of course he’d like this place, Luke thought to himself. It was the kind of earthy masculine, yet bougie design that he pictured Shaw being comfortable in.

“Yeah well, don’t get cozy just yet.” Luke said as he rang the bell sitting on the desk.

At first there was no response, then the sound of footsteps stumbling around on the upper floor drew both men’s eyes to the staircase. 

A pair of slippers emerged, slowly descending to reveal an older woman in a nightgown and robe.

“Verdammt William, kann es nicht bis zum Morgen wa...?”

She stopped when she noticed Luke and Deckard.

“Ah,” She pulled her robe a little tighter around herself and spoke with a lilted German accent. “You are visitors?”

“That’s right.” Luke offered his friendliest smile, noticing Deckard roll his eyes beside him. “We were hoping you had a room available.”

She looked both men over, concern flitting across her face. “Where did you boys come from? You didn’t walk here did you?”

“We had a bit of a camping mishap.” Luke bumped Deckard in the shoulder and referenced their backpacks. “Got lost in the dark and followed the lights here.”

“Mein Gott but it’s freezing out there.” Her eyes widened as she moved to stand behind the desk. “Far too cold to be backpacking this time of year.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t mind the chill so much but,” Luke nodded to Shaw again. “this one doesn’t do too well with low temperatures.”

Deckard elbowed him, aiming straight for the ribs. Luke hid his wince with another grin.

The woman looked between them, coming to some kind of conclusion. She smiled. “A room is fifty euro for the night. We only take cash though.”

“That’s fine.” Luke pulled out the wallet he’d taken from one of the snipers. He wasn’t that surprised this place didn’t accept credit cards. In fact, it made it easier for them to stay off the grid that way.

Luke pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “Sorry I don’t have anything smaller.”

Her eyes widened as she accepted the money and slid a room key across the wood. “Feel free to help yourself to the bar.” She gestures to a pair of mahogany sliding doors to their left. “If you need anything just call. My name’s Hilda by the way.”

Before Luke could take the key, Deckard snatched it up and smiled at Hilda before walking to the bar. “You have a lovely place.”

She smiled back and sent Luke a sympathetic glance before making her way back to the stairs.

A Beatles song was playing from an old CD player as Luke walked into the dimly lit room.

It looked like it was both a bar and a dining area. Small tables and chairs were scattered about with expensive, but somewhat mismatched furniture lining the walls.

Deckard sat at the bar on the far end of the room, an unopened bottle of vodka beside him and a glass of scotch in hand.

“Rough day at the office?” Luke joked as he stepped behind the bar to pour himself a drink.

Deckard scoffed and emptied his glass. “You could say that.”

Downing his own scotch, Luke refilled both their glasses. He could never tell what was high quality alcohol and what wasn’t. As long as it burned his throat on the way down, he didn’t care.

They finished the next round in silence, both lost in thought and worlds away from this small little village.

Luke kept thinking about Sam. She was staying with his sister and knew that sometimes when Daddy had to go to work, he wouldn’t be back for a while. But usually he’d be able to at least call her. He knew she’d be fine, just like she knew he’d come back like he always does. But it never stopped them from worrying about each other.

“You missing your kid?”

The question took Luke by surprise. He turned and stared at Deckard as he refilled both their glasses again. “Sam. And yeah...”

Shaw nodded. “You had a look in your eye.”

“A look?” Luke tilted his head, watching Deckard shrug and finish his drink. But the Brit didn’t offer anything else in explanation.

Luke reached for the bottle of scotch, feeling the remaining liquid slosh as he poured them another drink.

“Maybe tomorrow you could send her a postcard.” Deckard suggested, picking up his glass and watching how the amber liquid shined in the dim light before emptying it in one go.

Luke knocked back his own drink and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to talk about my family right now. I want to talk about yours.”

“I already told you about my father.” Deckard squinted up at him.

“One little fact doesn’t fill the whole picture.” Luke rested his hands on the counter, giving Shaw a leveling stare. “I need you to tell me everything.” 

Deckard crossed his arms and sighed. It had been a long day for both of them, and if the shoe were on the other foot, Luke was sure getting interrogated at midnight would piss him off too. “And what makes you think I’m gonna do that?”

“Because the human male requires on average two to three-thousand calories per day. We've been on the run for a couple days now and, unless you've been hiding away some beef wellingtons that you weren't telling me about, I don't think you've consumed more than three-hundred calories since the cemetery.” 

Luke maintained his confident, steady tone as he gestured toward Deckard’s empty glass. “Which means you just drank half a bottle of scotch on an empty stomach. So something tells me you're about to become a _very_ open book."

Deckard glared up at Hobbs. “You just drank the other half with me, Big Guy. Shouldn’t you be concerned about yourself right now?”

Luke returned the glare with a wide grin of his own. “Oh don’t worry about me, Princess. It takes a lot more than that to knock me off my feet.”

Their impromptu staring match lasted for a few more seconds until Deckard’s glare turned into the kind of grin Hobbs thought was exclusively reserved for crocodiles.

He twisted open the vodka bottle and poured both of them another drink.

Deckard held up his drink in cheers, waiting until Luke clinked their glasses together.

“Cheers, darling.”

It wasn’t until later, when Luke was half-way through belting out the second chorus of ‘Hey Jude,’ that he began to wonder if he had somewhat miscalculated.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” Roman raised his hand again. “I was just shot today, so I didn’t hear that last part right. I thought you said Shaw killed your father.”

“Getting shot doesn’t affect your hearing, idiot.” Owen stared the other man down. “Unless you were shot point blank in the head.”

“Why would Shaw kill his own father?” Tej crossed his arms in confusion.

Owen felt Hattie’s eyes on him. They’d never known exactly what had led to Deckard killing Victor. He’d never told them. But they never doubted that their father deserved it.

Letty was watching him carefully too. He’d shared some childhood stories with her while she was on his team, nothing too sensitive or private, but enough for her to probably understand the animosity the Shaws shared towards their father. Owen wondered just how much she remembered.

“It’s a long story.” He finally said. Because he wasn’t about to tell Dominic Toretto and his team, (people who he’d been trying to kill not too long ago), what Victor Shaw did to turn his children into soldiers. They had yet to earn the right to judge or comment on how the Shaws were raised.

“The ‘why’ doesn’t matter if we still can’t find any of them.” Ramsey pointed out.

Hattie stood from the couch, sliding her hands in her pockets as she walked over to the computers. “Where did they fall off the grid?” 

Ramsey turned back to her computer. As she tapped away at the keys, a map on her screen continued to zoom closer and closer until finally two dots appeared. 

“Germany.” She turned back to the group. “It looks like they were traveling to Berlin.”

Dom turned to Owen. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Relinquishing any information to Toretto felt like getting teeth pulled. But he needed to temper down his stubbornness if they wanted to help Deckard.

“There _is_ a safehouse in Berlin.” Owen allowed.

Dom crossed his arms expectantly. “And?”

Owen fought the urge to roll his eyes. “And, it may or may not belong to my brother.”

“O.’” Hattie warned. They were wasting time and he knew it.

“So is that our next move?” Tej asked. “We’re going to Berlin?”

Owen would rather it just be him and Hat. The only thing Toretto and his team would do is slow the Shaws down and blast delicacy to the wind with their four-hundred and thirty horsepower engines. But he had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen. What Toretto lacked in subtlety he made up for in stubbornness.

“How do we know they stopped in Berlin?” Letty asked.

It was a fair question. For all they knew Berlin was just where they ditched their phones. Realistically Deckard and Agent Hobbs could be anywhere right now.

“No,” Hattie was staring at the computer screen, deep in thought. “They didn’t ditch their phones at the start. So something must have happened that spooked them.”

“Or, whoever your dad hired to go after Shaw finally caught up to him.” Roman stretched out on the couch.

“Deckard.” Hattie corrected.

“What?”

She had a determined look on her face as she turned to face Roman. 

“You keep calling him ‘Shaw.’” She gestured to herself and Owen. “We’re all Shaws. My brother’s name is Deckard, and if we’re going to be working together then that’s exactly what you’re going to call him.”

Owen felt pride swell up in his chest at the sight of Roman folding beneath his sister’s glare. Hattie looked every one of them in the eye, making sure they knew she was serious.

“Letty’s right.” Dom nodded, trying to settle the tension that rose over the kitchen. “We don’t know if Deckard and Hobbs stopped in Berlin. But it’s our best shot right now.”

He turned to stare at Owen. “And if we want to get our friends home safe, we’re going to have to work as a team.”

Owen felt his skin prickle at Toretto’s mention of the word ‘team.’ They weren’t, and never would be, a team. Not after their shared history. But fighting with Dom wasn’t assisting his brother. And if Deckard were here, he’d probably tell Owen to stop being a dick and start helping. 

“Fine.” He said. “We’re going to Berlin.”

* * *

Deckard had no idea how he managed to half-drag-half-guide Hobbs’s drunk ass up those stairs, but before he knew it they were standing in front of their hotel room with a half-empty bottle of vodka. Luke was leaning heavily against his smaller frame as Deckard tried to turn the key for their room. He was still humming The Beatles, but fortunately he’d toned the volume down enough so that they wouldn’t bother Hilda.

The door finally gave, swinging open and causing all of Luke's weight to fall onto Deckard. His legs strained as he shouldered Hobbs’s weight over to the queen-sized bed. The bedspring creaked in protest as Deckard dropped Luke onto it.

“Whoa.” Luke slurred, rubbing at his eyes and looking around. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here, idiot.” Deckard shook his head as he set the vodka down on the small desk near the window and collapsed into the chair.

Luke struggled into a sitting position and blinked around the room looking for Shaw. He nodded when his eyes finally focused on the Brit. “There you are.”

“It wasn’t like I was trying to hide.” Deckard pointed out. He was having a hard time fighting off the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d never seen Hobbs like this.

“You see?” Luke pointed at himself. His words came out slow, like he was taking extra time trying to make sure they sounded right. “I’m fine. Totally sober.”

“Uh-huh.” Deckard stood and walked over to the bed. “Don’t know what I was so worried about.”

He gave Hobbs a light push, and the larger man slowly toppled over.

“Okay.” Luke groaned.” Maybe I’m a little drunk. But I could still kick your ass.”

“‘Course you could.” Deckard sat down on the other side of the bed, deciding to humor him.

Luke pushed himself so he was sitting again. His hands were gripping the bed sheets, probably trying to quell the dizzying feeling that usually accompanied excessive drinking.

“How are you not completely wasted right now?” He asked.

Deckard wanted to admit that he felt more than a little buzzed, but admitting weakness wasn’t in his nature. Actually, it was never _allowed_ to be in his nature. 

He absently scratched at a scab that formed near the arch of his eyebrow where a chip of granite nicked his skin.

“My uh… When I was thirteen my father took me to a pub, someplace where everyone was dirty in some way, and usually in Victor’s pocket. He brought me to the bar and told the owner that I was going to try everything. And he meant it.” Deckard looked up to see Hobbs watching him intently. But not like a cop. Luke was watching him like someone who was really listening.

“He was trying to build up my tolerance level, making sure I wouldn’t spill any secrets while on a job in the future.”

He remembered the feeling of gin burning his throat, along with the way his father laughed with the other patrons. Like a child not being able to hold their liquor was funny to them.

“I guess I said some things that night I shouldn’t have. Things he didn’t like. The morning after, he worked me over pretty hard in the fighting ring. Nearly broke my arm.” Deckard felt a drop of fresh blood ooze from the scab. He pulled his hand away, making a fist in his lap. “Every time we went back, I got a little bit better at staying in control. After I got a little older, once Victor thought I’d built up a good enough tolerance, he started adding different things to the drinks like flunitrazepam.”

Deckard looked down at his fist. “He made sure we were prepared for everything.”

The small hotel room filled with the kind of silence that couldn’t be found in a city or even a suburb. There were no distant car sounds to fill the void, only thoughts and memories.

“That’s… awful.” Luke finally said.

Deckard shrugged. “It made us better soldiers. Damn near unshakable in the field.”

He heard the bed creak and suddenly Hobbs’s big hands were sandwiching the sides of Deckard’s face, making him look directly at the drunk Samoan.

“What he put you through was not okay. It doesn’t matter if it helped some when you got older. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. You shouldn’t be trying to justify it.”

Luke’s words were slurred to high heaven, but the bright earnestness in his eyes was unshakable. Deckard didn’t know what to say. He could only stare into those deep brown eyes and flounder against how much Hobbs seemed to care about the cruelties of his youth.

“Come here.” Luke mumbled and clumsily pulled Deckard into a hug.

It was awkward, being dragged further into the bed and Hobbs’s arms. But it was also warm, and strangely reassuring. Deckard had seen the kind of damage Luke inflicted with his brute strength alone. As long as Deckard was wrapped in those arms, there weren’t many things that could hurt him.

Then Hobbs slowly began to lean, and then topple into the mattress, dragging Shaw down with him. The air escaped Deckard’s lungs with a surprised ‘oof’ as all of Luke’s weight settled onto his smaller frame.

“Hobbs?” 

He was met with the sound of Luke softly snoring into his ear.

“Dammit Hobbs.” Deckard thumped the larger man’s back, but it was no use. He was dead to the world.

Deckard shouldn’t be surprised. A day-long hike through the wilderness followed by drinking on an empty stomach will do that to you.

What was a surprise, was that Deckard was somewhat sorry that the big guy passed out. They were actually having a really nice time together. As much as Deckard liked to badger and complain about him, Hobbs was one of the few people outside of his siblings that he could stand. 

And they worked well together. Deckard hadn’t had a partner he could count on since… Well, since Brixton. But Deckard didn’t like to dwell on that part of his life. Or on the majority of his past honestly. The only shining light of his childhood came from the memories he shared with Hattie and Owen.

Deckard wondered where they were right now. He hoped wherever it was that they were safe. Getting stuck in Wernigerode hadn’t been part of the plan, and he hoped his father hadn’t directed his attention back on his siblings.

A loud snore interrupted Deckard’s thoughts.

“You big idiot.” He muttered, hitting Luke’s back again to no avail.

Eventually he tried to settle under the larger man’s mass, letting the pressure work like a weighted blanket, lulling him to sleep.

The last thing Deckard was conscious of, was the feeling of Luke’s heart beating against his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎵 My body decided to check in and remind me it still hates me.🎵 There were a few days there were I could barely think at all it was just a fog. But I'm starting to feel better now (yay!) and wanted to update this fic while I've got the energy!  
> Hope you're all doing well!

Deckard woke first, which wasn’t that big of a surprise considering how much Hobbs drank last night. What was a surprise was the _way_ he woke up.

He was lying on his side, with one of Luke’s big arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against the larger man’s chest. It was incredibly warm, and Deckard had to admit he’d definitely woken up in worse positions.

Then he felt something hard poke into the small of his back.

_ Right.  _ Deckard thought. This was a little awkward.

He did his best to shimmy out from Luke’s embrace while also trying to avoid the other man’s morning wood.

Again, there were worse ways to wake up. But Deckard had the feeling Hobbs wouldn’t appreciate waking up in such an intimate position with a man he’d fought on more than one occasion.

Hobbs barely even stirred as Deckard slid off the bed and silently stepped over to where he’d left the vodka the night before. The bottle felt cool to the touch as Deckard brought it into the bathroom with him and set it on the counter as he pulled his shirt off.

Now that he got a good look at his shoulder in the mirror, Deckard could tell it was infected. He’d known that already, but the sight pulled his mouth into a thin frown.

He unscrewed the bottle and poured a good amount onto a washcloth that looked like it’d seen better days. So had he, Deckard thought to himself as he clenched his teeth and began scrubbing the wound.

The burning sensation brought everything back to the forefront. He couldn’t think of a single way to hunt his father down and finish what he’d started all those years ago, so the only solution was to let Victor kill him before the rest of his family got hurt.

But it wasn’t that simple. Now he had Hobbs to worry about. And something told Deckard that Luke wasn’t going to let him just roll over and die. He was stubborn like that.

Deckard rinsed off the cloth with hot water, panting and closing his eyes at the pain burning along his side. Then he poured more alcohol on the wound and began scrubbing again.

He kept his eyes clothed. The spots flashing across his vision were distracting him anyway.

They could keep running, but that always risked his father getting bored and going after Hattie and Owen instead.

They could stop and fight, but considering how resourceful Victor Shaw is, there’s no way of knowing what they’d be up against.

Deckard leaned against the sink, dropping the cloth under the running faucet to rinse out the blood. He shakily reached for the soap and began rubbing it into the warm damp material until it was covered in suds. He winced as he brought the soapy cloth to his shoulder and began to gently rub the open wound.

He could always ask Hobbs if he had any ideas, Deckard thought to himself. It seemed only fair. If he was stuck keeping the big guy alive the least Luke could do is contribute.

Deckard gave his shoulder a final rinse before collapsing onto the side of the clawed bathtub and sighing from exhaustion. Suddenly that big warm bed didn’t sound too bad.

Instead, he dug around the bathroom drawers until he found what he was looking for.

Deckard opened the small sewing kit and selected a needle and red thread. Stitching up his shoulder was a little awkward considering the angle, but Deckard did his best, using the mirror to try and thread the needle through his skin as close to the wound as possible.

“What are you doing?”

Deckard looked up in surprise to see Hobbs standing in the bathroom doorway.

There were creases and lines across his face from where it’d been pressed into the pillow, and Luke’s eyes had a bleariness to them that made him look somehow softer. Deckard tried to remember the last time he’d seen someone outside of his family this pleasantly disheveled, and realized that it had been nearly ten years.

Luke was still staring. Right, he’d asked a question. A really stupid question now that Deckard thought about it.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He raised the needle that was still attached to his wound. “I’m learning to cross-stitch.”

Luke rolled his eyes and motioned for him to scooch over. “Let me.”

Had he not just put himself through a great deal of pain, Deckard would like to think he would have resisted a little. But he was tired, and his arm hurt, and it would probably be easier for Hobbs to finish sewing him up.

With a sigh, he slid to the side and let Luke perch next to him on the bathtub.

“You do this a lot?” Deckard asked, trying to distract himself from the task at hand.

“You mean stitching up mysterious brooding men in hotel bathrooms?” Luke looked up with a smile. “Yeah once or twice.”

“And here I thought I was special.” Deckard smiled back, gritting his teeth when Hobbs accidentally tugged the red thread with just a little too much force.

“Sorry.” Luke apologized, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tied the finishing knot and used the small sewing scissors to snip the thread.

“It’s fine.” Deckard said. From the reflection in the mirror he could see the nice, uniformed stitches that ran across his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Luke returned the needle back to the sewing kit. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” He nudged Deckard towards the door. “I am very hungover and need a shower. So how about you go and find us some breakfast.”

“Since when did I become your manservant?” Deckard asked as he pulled on the flannel shirt over a dark grey Henley.

“Since I stitched up your arm.” Luke smiled before closing the bathroom door between them.

That smile stayed with Deckard longer than he cared to admit. And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake it or its accompanying warmth as he left the hotel and began his trek along Main Street. Deckard liked to pretend that he was still immune to that smile, but as his eyes caught sight of an item in one of the storefront windows, he knew it just wasn’t true.

* * *

Luke hummed to himself as he exited the bathroom. The cool water from the shower was only high enough to reach his shoulders, but it had been soothing nonetheless. Why was that Beatles song stuck in his head? He was just in the middle of pulling on his clothes when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Jesus!” Luke quickly tugged on his pants.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” Deckard lounged in the chair by the window. “After last night I thought we’d moved beyond that.”

“Ha. Ha. How long have you been sitting there?” He fastened his belt and reached for the t-shirt he left on the bed.

Deckard shrugged. “Since you started singing. Are all DSS agents required to be able to carry a tune, or is that just one of your little gifts?”

Luke tugged on his shirt to hide his flushed cheeks. “I wasn’t singing.”

“Sure you weren’t.” he heard Deckard set something on the table. “Here.”

Luke picked up the item. It was a photograph of the town. 

“What’s this?” He flipped the photo over, realizing it was a postcard.

“I thought you might like to write to Sam.” Deckard strategically avoided making eye contact. “By the time anyone tries to track a postcard we’ll be long gone from here.”

Luke had almost forgotten their conversation the night before. But clearly it had been more than just a throwaway comment for Deckard.

“Thank you.” Luke stared at Deckard both surprised and moved by the gesture.

Shaw’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile as he handed him a pen. “Hilda said there was breakfast down in the bar if we’re hungry.”

“Starving.” Luke took the pen, hovering over the postcard. He was trying to think of what he should write, what he could possibly say to explain to Sam what was going on.

Eventually he settled on writing: 

_ Still helping my friend, (See? I told you I had one!). Can’t wait to tell you all about it when I get back. I love and miss you. -Dad _

Luke read his note over before nodding and looking up at Deckard. “Let’s go.”

There was a small basket for outgoing mail on the hotel desk that Luke dropped the postcard in on their way to the bar. The sight of the bar made his stomach turn in protest at the memory of exactly how much he drank last night. Food would hopefully help with that.

“Guten Morgen mein gentlemen.” Hilda offered the two of them menus as Luke and Deckard sat down at a table. One of the other tables in the bar sat occupied with who Luke figured were townspeople from Wernigerode. “Did we sleep well last night?”

“Like a baby cradled in its mother’s arms.” Deckard smiled up at Hilda.

“You should have mentioned you were traveling with friends.” She grinned back. “I would have prepared a few more rooms.”

“Beg pardon?” Deckard glanced at Luke, his smile faltering.

Hilda didn’t seem to notice the change in their demeanor. She merely pointed to the three men across the room.

“Those gentlemen came in this morning. They said you knew they were coming.”

The men in question were watching Luke and Deckard intently from their table. 

The large one in the middle had a scar that ran from his dark hairline all the way down his neck and beneath his collared shirt. The blonde on his left hand both hands on the table, one of which was casually gripping a knife. The remaining tanned, broad-shouldered man, who Luke assumed was their leader, was stretched out languidly in the chair as he waved at them from across the room.

“Hobbs…”

“I know.” Luke whispered before he turned back to Hilda with a smile. “We’re probably going to need a minute before ordering.”

If she sensed that something was wrong, she didn’t let it show. Hilda just nodded and shuffled back to the kitchen.

Luke and Deckard waited a few minutes before standing and slowly making their way to the other table.

“Somebody offered a lot of money for us to bring you in.” The leader addressed Shaw. “Double if you’re still alive.”

“And if I’m dead?” Deckard’s stare didn’t waver.

The man shrugged in response. “Then we drag your bodies back to the boss and still get paid. I’d prefer you alive though.”

“I’m sure.”

Luke watched at Deckard rested his fingers against the tablecloth, slow and clear enough so not to draw suspicion. He had a feeling a plan was about to be put in motion.

He was proven right when a moment later, Deckard gripped the cloth and tore it from the table. As the men responded to silverware and glasses shattering to the floor, he whipped the material around again and threw it over the assassins.

Luke took the opportunity to lift the table and shove it against the three men. The larger scarred man sliced through the tablecloth with a serrated hunting knife and caught it mid-throw. He and scarface grappled with the table, trying to knock the other off their feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hobbs saw Deckard fighting off the other two mercenaries. It was hardly a fair fight, with both opponents brandishing knives while Shaw only had his fists, but he was still managing to hold his own.

The blonde lunged with the knife, tearing at the flannel as Deckard dodged the attack. He barely missed the strike from the leader, catching his wrist and using the momentum to spin and send him crashing into the other man.

“Are you planning on just watching or are you going to help?” Deckard called over his shoulder.

Luke frowned. He was not about to be shown up.

Releasing his hold on the table, Luke side-stepped and let the force of the larger man’s strength propel him forward. As he stumbled past, Luke struck the mercenary down with a fist to the back of his neck.

Scarface crumpled to the ground just as the blonde lashed out. Luke easily caught his hand, squeezing until the smaller man cried out and let the knife clatter to the ground.

“I think it’s about time you took a nap.” Luke said, punching the man in the face and feeling his nose break beneath his knuckles.

Deckard was still grappling with the leader. Bobbing and weaving, gliding out of the way of each strike as easily as if it were a choreographed dance.

“It’s an honor, by the way.” The assassin commented between blows. “I heard a lot about you. Everyone in the underworld knows about Deckard Shaw.”

“Then I must not be doing a good enough job of keeping a low profile.” Deckard grabbed a stray fork and threw it with expert-marksmanship. 

The other man cried out as the utensil embedded itself in his shoulder. “That, or legends have a way of getting around.” He gritted his teeth as he pulled the fork out. 

Big mistake. 

Luke had enough experience with combat wounds to know that Deckard had struck an artery. Blood spurted from the wound the second the man pulled the utensil out. His eyes widened as he quickly tried to apply pressure.

Deckard took the opportunity to strike.

He leapt at the mercenary, wrapping his legs around the man’s neck and using the momentum to twist him off his feet, snapping his neck before either of their bodies hit the ground.

Luke watched as Deckard stood and caught his breath, panting and splattered in the blood of the man beneath him. He desperately tried not to fixate on the image of Shaw snapping someone’s neck with his legs. Nope, he was definitely not thinking about what else those legs could do. No siree…

“Mein gott.”

Luke and Deckard turned to see Hilda standing in the doorway to the bar. Her wide eyes darted around the room, taking in the bodies scattered across the room.

“Is he…?” She stared at the lifeless body at Deckard’s feet.

For a moment, Luke wondered if it was possible to convince the old woman that the assassin was just taking a nap. But there was a lot of blood so…

“You need to leave.” Hilda’s voice had gone cold. “Now.”

“We will. We promise.” Luke held up his hands, trying to show they meant no harm. Which was probably extremely hard to believe considering the state of her hotel. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble seems to have found you.” Hilda shook her head. “The police are on their way. I suggest you be gone before they arrive.”

She wasn’t wrong. Luke glanced around the room, trying to assess the damage. Deckard still hadn’t moved from where he was standing over the body of the leader.

“Here.” He slid the wallet from his pocket and began to pull out money for the repairs.

“I don’t want your money!” The older woman harshly waved at his outstretched hand. “I want you out of my town.”

“We’re going.” Luke withdrew his hand. “Deckard? Come on let’s go.”

Shaw responded mechanically. His mouth set into a thin line and his eyes downcast as he turned and followed Luke.

“Sorry about your place.” He spoke softly as he passed Hilda.

Hobbs had no idea where they should go, he just knew Wernigerode wasn’t safe anymore. So they weaved through back streets, going in whichever direction the sirens weren’t, until they were back in the woods.

“How did those guys find us?” Luke asked, leaning against a tree to catch his breath.

When he didn’t get a response, he looked around.

Deckard had an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at the blood on his hands, occasionally turning them over and shifting his fingers.

“Shaw?” He could be in shock, Hobbs thought. Although he knew for a fact Deckard had seen and done a lot worse.

“It doesn’t matter.” Deckard said to himself, wiping his hands on his shirt. It was already stained with blood anyway.

Luke huffed. He was still hungover and not in the mood for vague answers today. “Well we almost died back there, so it definitely matters to me.”

“We weren’t going to die.” Deckard shot him an annoyed look.

“We--!” Luke began to point at Shaw, but turned his hand into a fist, trying to grasp at some yet untapped resource of patience he didn’t know he had.

He took a breath. “The point is we were found and attacked despite the fact that there wasn’t a single security camera or cell phone in sight.”

“They could have been on our tail since the train.” Deckard suggested. “Or they were in the area and just happened to get lucky.”

Shaw looked around the surrounding trees, as if he genuinely believed assassins could materialize at any moment. He probably wasn’t wrong. “The point is, staying off the grid didn’t do anything.”

“So what’s the next move?” Luke asked.

Deckard’s entire demeanor looked different compared to just this morning.

“Head to Berlin. See if we can’t make it to the safehouse.”

Hobbs remembered when Sam caught the flu a few years back. They spent a whole week vegging out in front of the TV watching nature documentaries while she fought her fever. There was a segment on persistence hunting, where the prey would eventually succumb to its fate because the predator pursuing it just relentlessly stalked the creature to death.

That’s what Shaw reminded him of right now. He looked resigned.

“We’ll come up with something.” Luke found himself saying. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed the look of hope in Shaw’s eyes until it was gone, and he wanted it back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's doing alright! I just did a load of laundry for the first time since quarantine started so I'm doing 👌.  
> If you want you can find me at possiblypogue on tumblr

They’d been traveling along the road for a full day in almost complete silence. Both of them far too on edge and far too tired to maintain any semblance of conversation.

Deckard’s shoulder still ached, but that was less due to the infection and more from the fight.

“So, once we make it to the safehouse, what then? You got any plans for how to beat your dad?”

“Not really.” Deckard put one foot in front of the other, trying not to fixate on the inevitable destination. He’d always wondered what it felt like to walk to your own execution.

Judging by the silence that followed, that wasn’t the answer Hobbs was expecting.

“Huh.” Luke finally said. “Funny, I never thought you’d be the type to wing something like this.”

Deckard didn’t respond. He knew Hobbs was just fishing for information.

After another mile of silence, he spoke again.

“I remember Sam’s first soccer tournament. She and her team worked so hard to make the play-offs. But once they got there, all the other teams looked so much bigger and had way more experience. It felt like they’d lost the fight before the game even started.”

Deckard hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of parent Luke was. As it turns out, he was the kind that liked to brag about his kid’s accomplishments. It would actually be kind of endearing. That is, if they weren't currently being hunted down.

Deckard cut Hobbs off. He could see where this was going. “You’re seriously trying to compare our situation to your daughter’s soccer game?”

“What I’m saying is,” Luke stopped and crossed his arms, “don’t accept defeat before starting the fight.”

It was a stupid analogy. But it did remind Deckard of something.

Sam.

He might be willing to sacrifice himself for his family. But if anything happened to Luke, then she’d be all alone.

Just because Deckard had a less than stellar relationship with his father, didn’t mean he was oblivious to the importance of having a good parent. You tended to be more aware of what you weren’t lucky enough to have.

“You think I’m giving up?” He challenged.

Hobbs matched his stance. “It certainly feels like it.”

“How does this sound then?” Deckard tilted his head. “Once we get to Berlin, I reach out to some of my contacts and see if we can’t find where Victor is.”

Luke shook his head. “Just like that?”

It wasn’t that simple. Even if they found his father, it wasn’t like killing him would be like any of their other missions. No matter what they did, Victor Shaw would have the upper hand. 

“And if we can’t find him?” Hobbs pushed.

“I’m working on that part.”

A car slowed down beside them and a woman leaned out the window. She offered a friendly smile. “Möchtest du mitfahren?”

Deckard turned and waved her off. “Nein danke.”

She waved back and kept on driving.

When he turned back, Hobbs was staring at him incredulously.

“What?”

“What was that?” He gestured to the disappearing car. 

Deckard shrugged. He thought it was obvious. “She asked us if we wanted a ride.” 

“And you said no?” Luke’s voice echoed every grueling mile they'd already trekked, and protested the ones ahead. 

But Deckard knew what he was doing. 

“She could have been anyone!” He poked at Hobbs’s broad, muscular frame. “Besides, I doubt we could have managed to squeeze you inside that car. German vehicles are made for regular-sized people.”

“You’re acting like assassins just grow on trees. Not everyone you meet wants to kill you, you know.” Luke paused. “On second thought...”

“Very funny.” Deckard watched as another car appeared on the horizon. As it drew closer, he spotted the Taxicab light on top.

“Probleme mit deinem Auto?” The driver rolled down his window.

“Nein. We’re just out for a walk.”

“Ah, English!” He smiled. “You fellas need a lift back to town?”

He looked from the cabbie to Luke, then back to the driver. “We’re a bit low on cash, so I think we’ll stick to walking. Thanks.”

The man pressed. “The next town is still an hour away by car. Berlin is even farther. I’ll take you there, free of charge.”

Deckard could feel Luke’s gaze burning the back of his skull. He had a funny feeling that if he didn’t take the cabbie up on his offer, Hobbs would kill him himself.

He gave the car a once-over before finally smiling. “That would be lovely, thanks.”

“Thank god.” Luke muttered, before walking over and opening the car door for both of them.

The back of the cab was admittedly a welcome change compared to the chilled elements outside. It was cramped too. Deckard found himself pressed flush against Hobbs’s side, with the larger man’s arm draped behind him to try and make it a little more comfortable for them. At least, that’s what Deckard assumed.

It was strange to think about how much changed between them since their first fight in Hobbs’s office. Deckard would never have thought that only a few short years later, they’d be allies. Maybe even friends (He didn’t have a lot of experience in that department).

“So where did you boys come from?” The cabbie asked as he fiddled with the car’s heating system. The nameplate on his dash identified him as ‘Fritz.’

“Like he said,” Luke answered, “we were just out for a walk.”

Fritz’s eyebrows raised as he glanced in the rearview mirror. “An American? Well, aren’t you two a funny pair.”

“You could say that again.” Deckard absently muttered.

He was busy looking for any possible threats. But both Fritz’s hands were on the wheel, and it didn’t look like there were any hidden compartments where he could store a weapon.

“-isn’t that right?” Luke gave him a squeeze.

Deckard blinked. “What?”

“I was just telling Fritz we’re visiting friends in Berlin.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He nodded along.

Hobbs yawned and settled into the backseat. “Yeah, after the hike we’ve had, I’m going to sleep well tonight.”

Deckard had to admit, he was tired too. And Luke’s body felt like a warm furnace. Perfect for comfort.

Come to think of it, he felt more tired now than when they were walking outside.

His eyes snapped open, recognizing the new potential threat. There was a glass partition separating them from the driver. If someone were to pump sleeping gas through the air vents...

Deckard leaned over and tried to roll down the window. Nothing.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Fritz’s friendly voice had a slight edge to it now. “My windows are broken. Been meaning to fix them.”

It would have been a completely believable explanation. That is, if the cabbie hadn’t rolled down his window when he first picked them up.

Fritz met Deckard’s eyes in the rearview mirror. For a brief moment the masks fell, both men recognizing and acknowledging the other for what they were. Predator and prey.

Except Fritz had made the mistake of believing he was the predator here.

“Deckard?” Hobbs said. The word came out slow. But Deckard could hear the other man realize they were in trouble again.

“Sam’s soccer tournament.” He asked. “Did she win?”

Luke looked confused, clearly wondering why he was being asked this right now.

Eventually he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, her team won.”

Deckard figured as much. Hobbs wouldn’t have brought up the story if it ended in crushing defeat.

“Good.” He said to himself. “Hold on tight Fat Boy.”

Deckard used his remaining energy to drive his elbow into the glass partition. It cracked but didn’t break. 

“Now, now.” Fritz tutted. “Don’t hurt yourself back there. Your father will pay good money to have you alive.”

His limbs felt heavy, and he could feel himself wanting to collapse to the floor of the taxi. But Deckard had to get them out of here. He had to get Luke back to his daughter.

He elbowed the glass again, and it shattered into the front seat.

“Scheisse!” Fritz shouted, flinching away from the sharp fragments.

Deckard took the opportunity to lunge through the window and pull the driver into a headlock. He ignored the glass that cut into his side and focused all his energy towards staying awake and incapacitating Fritz. The mercenary’s arms instinctively released the wheel and grasped at the arm around his neck.

The car swerved across the road, straddling the slope that fell back into the forested area.

Deckard was watching out the windshield, looking for an opening. When he saw a boulder on the right-hand side of the road, he made his move.

Pushing forward, Deckard reached out with one hand and yanked on the steering wheel, sending the vehicle lurching and sliding into the rock-face.

Fritz screamed as the boulder crunched into his side of the car.

Deckard must have blacked out at some point, because the next thing he knew the muffled sound of Hobbs yelling pulled him back to consciousness.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Luke was glaring down at him. The sky peeked out from behind his broad frame, so they must be out of the car.

“Is he alive?” Deckard began to sit up. He gasped when a sharp pain bit into his side.

Luke was groaning again. “Stop moving! I just stopped the bleeding.”

As Deckard came back to himself, he spotted the med kit sitting beside the car, along with the pile of blood-stained disinfectant wipes next to it. He looked down, tracing the bandages that covered where the taxi’s partition had cut into his side. 

He looked up to where Luke was still fuming. “Did Fritz make it?”

Hobbs stared at him in disbelief. “You nearly just got us killed and all you can think about is the guy that tried to capture us.” 

“Well that was the whole point.” Deckard winced, sitting up and looking over the car. It looked like it was still drivable, which was a plus.

“You… This was all part of some kind of plan?”

Deckard had yet to get tired of seeing the incredulous stare on Hobbs’s face. Although he wished it didn’t always happen amidst a near death experience.

He stood, leaning heavily against the rock-face. “My father won’t stop sending people after us. That means that whoever he sends will have a means to contact him when the job is done.”

“So, you purposefully put us in a situation where we might get abducted so we could track the mercenary back to your father?” Deckard watched as Hobbs processed his own words. 

He shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“That… Actually might work.” Luke cocked an eyebrow, surprisingly impressed.

“Thanks.” Deckard gritted his teeth against the pain in his side. “So, please tell me the driver is still alive.”

The sound of a pained groan drew both men’s attention to the car.

Luke turned back to Deckard with a grin. “Well then today’s your lucky day.”

* * *

Hattie loved exploring Deckard’s safehouses. 

Perhaps ‘exploring’ wasn’t the right word since they were always on the smaller side.

‘Discovering’ was more appropriate.

Because amidst the carefully chosen furniture and decorations that gave the impression of a person that didn’t actually exist, Deckard always hid something real. Something harmless that held a true reflection of either him or his family. 

Something that said, ‘I am here, I am alive, and I am capable of more than just existing.’

Their father never taught or encouraged anything beyond functionality. Anything that wasn’t a necessity was inherently an act of rebellion in Victor Shaw’s eyes.

All the siblings had their own ways of passively pushing back against him. Hattie had a tattoo of Aconitum on the back of her left shoulder for that exact reason. She’d gotten it long after their father’s supposed death, but the sentiment remained.

Hattie ran her fingers along a table as she admired the pictures adorning the walls.

Deckard always came up with traits and hobbies for all the false identities attached to his safehouses. This house’s theme seemed to be photography.

Every image was clearly chosen with care, giving the impression they were all taken by the same person. There were mostly pictures of nature with some candid shots of the populated countryside.

Hattie’s eyes were drawn to a series of black and white photographs from a ballet studio. Dancers stretching and arching in near impossible contortions of human anatomy. Painful and beautiful all at once.

And there it was. Amidst all the other catching imagery that demanded attention, Hattie found truth.

The image of three silhouetted figures on the cusp of their teenage years, and yet no longer children, stretching in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. It was almost out of focus, making it difficult for the viewer to determine the gender of any of the subjects. But Hattie knew. Because she was one of those silhouettes.

The photograph was taken by one of the kinder instructors their father had hired. Those types never lasted long. Victor Shaw thought ballet would teach his children discipline. He was right of course. He always was when it came to what would strengthen the trio. But he didn’t like the idea of the siblings getting attached to any one instructor, or that instructor growing soft on them.

Hattie traced the frame, remembering the countless days of broken toes and painful repetition that taught her and her brothers sure-footedness in the field. She didn’t know how Deckard managed to save the photograph. Maybe their teacher slipped it to him before they were let go.

“He’s not here, Hat.” Owen appeared at her side. “It doesn’t look like he’s been here in years.”

She kept her eyes focused on the picture. “He’ll be here.”

Owen followed her stare to the image. Recognition softened his features fractionally as the siblings let memories wash over the two of them.

“What we doing over here?” Roman sidled up to the siblings and browsed the wall of photographs, staring a little longer at the professional ballet shots. He crossed his arms and smiled at the two of them. “Nice.”

Hattie rolled her eyes and lifted the picture of her and her brothers off the wall. 

“Oh, are these up for grabs?” Roman reached for one of the photos, a side-long image of a woman arching backwards. Owen quickly slapped him away. “Ow!”

They’d started bickering, but Hattie wasn’t paying attention. She was still staring at the framed picture in her hands as she retreated to where she’d left her duffel-bag. It was a lot emptier since their flight. Airport security tended to frown upon carry-on weapons, so she and Owen had to abandon their firepower in LA.

They hadn’t minded. She and Owen both knew that this safehouse was just as well-stocked.

“What’s that?”

Hattie looked up in surprise. She’d been too distracted to notice Letty walking up to her. A mistake like that would have certainly cost her in the field.

“Nothing.” She stated, quickly shoving the picture into her bag.

Letty had clearly seen the photo, but she didn’t press the matter. She just watched Hattie with that unreadable stare.

“Okay.” She finally said. “Ramsey and Tej are setting up in the kitchen.”

There wasn’t a question attached, but Hattie recognized the invitation. 

“I’ll be right there.” She said, watching as Letty turned away with a nod. Hattie was struck by the feeling that she was being treated like an especially skittish cat. 

Normally being handled with safety-gloves would drive her mad. But there was something about the way Letty didn’t push or prod that Hattie appreciated. Her standoffish approach was much preferred to the concerned stares and well-intentioned but inevitably hollow questions like ‘are you okay?’ or ‘how are you doing?’

Hattie learned early on that those kinds of questions never made anything better. Usually the people who asked them were just looking to ease their own guilty conscience. Fighting instructors, private tutors, and doctors that were deep in her father’s pocket. None of them would ever have dreamed about lifting a finger to help Hattie or her brothers. But it didn’t stop them from pretending like they cared.

“Is this all our stuff? Where’s my computer?” Ramsey was looking through the various monitors and cables they’d already unpacked. “I know I had it when we landed.”

Hattie looked around as she entered the kitchen. She had no idea how they managed to make it look so cluttered in such a short amount of time. 

“It’s here.” She gestured to the computer satchel resting under a pile of maps.

“Oh, thanks!” Ramsey sighed in relief as she grabbed the bag.

Her movement faltered as she held the item. Ramsey weighed the satchel in her hand, frowning. “That’s strange…”

She stepped over to a clear area on the counter and set her bag down, unzipping and opening it with a rising urgency.

Ramsey’s eyes widened as she stared at the laptop. “Oh my god.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Hattie looked over her shoulder. Nothing looked like it was missing.

“I should have checked. I can’t believe I was so stupid.” Ramsey was spiraling, pulling the computer from her bag and flipping it over and over, like she was looking for something.

Tej looked over Ramsey’s other shoulder. His eyebrows raised. “Uh-oh.”

“Is it broken?” Letty asked.

“No it’s--” Ramsey dropped the computer back in her bag, burying her fingers in her curly hair. “This isn’t my computer. Someone must have switched it at the airport.”

“The only time they could have done that was the security checkpoint. How would someone have even known to go after your bag specifically?”

 _Easily,_ Hattie thought to herself. “But, if my father has your computer, then does that mean…”

Ramsey’s guilty expression answered Hattie's question before she even opened her mouth. "He’s got God’s Eye.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay! Work has picked up again so I have less time to write. But I'm really excited to see how you like this chapter!  
> I hope you are all well!

Deckard had to admit, it was both entertaining and genuinely impressive watching Luke interrogate Fritz. 

Granted, Deckard had helped a little with the whole car crash thing, but he could still see why Hobbs was held in such high regard as a DSS agent.

Not even an hour later, they were driving the damaged taxi into Berlin. After he told them what they needed to know, Fritz had been left abandoned on the roadside. Someone would come across him eventually.

The drive to the city had been a much-needed reprieve for Deckard. While Hobbs had done a good job at patching him up, he didn’t think he could have managed to walk all the way to Berlin. Which was a problem in and of itself. Because every injury he collected meant he had even less of a chance of beating his father.

Deckard had been mulling over their plan of action, calculating and recalculating with every new complication that arose.

“We’re here.” Luke parked the car in an empty lot a block away from their actual target. A busted-up taxi might draw some unwanted attention. They were going to have a hard enough time trying to disguise Deckard’s injuries. Fortunately the flannel shirt hid the gash in his side well enough.

Fritz didn’t personally know where Victor Shaw was, but his boss Karl did. And Karl was apparently holed up in a club called Liebe. The management used it as a front for selling black market narcotics.

It was probably difficult for someone like Luke to not immediately go into work-mode and take apart the criminal activity piece by piece, but he knew that's not what they were here for. Hobbs would just have to settle for calling in an anonymous tip once they were done.

The moment they entered the building, Deckard immediately realized what kind of club it was. Men were dancing with other men, and women were laughing together over drinks at the bar. 

_Oh._

“Karl’s probably somewhere past those doors. Let’s blend in and inconspicuously make our way over.” Luke pointed to where two men were guarding the back of the club.

Deckard would normally have poked fun that a word like 'inconspicuously' seemed rather big for someone of Luke's brain capacity. But he was a little distracted right now.

He had to wonder what Hobbs thought of this place. Then Deckard realized that it was also extremely possible that Luke hadn’t even noticed yet. It was loud, and the colored strobe lights made it difficult to focus on anything.

As for blending in...

He looked up at Hobbs, taking in his too-tight black t-shirt and the healthy glow to his skin that never seemed to go away. Oh yeah, they wouldn’t have to worry about mixing in here. 

Deckard rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms and tucking in his Henley. “Let’s go Papa Bear.”

“That’s a new one.” He heard Luke mutter as he forged a slow but steady path through the thrumming crowd.

Deckard stayed close behind. One, because he liked it when Hobbs had to do more work than him. And two, because he had the feeling it would be very easy to get lost in the ocean of bodies. 

They’d reached nearly the center of the room when Luke abruptly stopped, causing Deckard to bump into his back.

“Shaw, this is a gay bar.”

_Wow_. Deckard was actually impressed it took him this long. He also didn’t miss how Luke called him ‘Shaw.’ Like the formal address would somehow distance the two of them, when in reality the only thing separating them was a few layers of clothing.

Then again, this probably wasn’t Hobbs’s scene. Mr. Soccer Dad probably hadn’t been on a date in over a decade.

Deckard maneuvered around his bulky frame so Luke could see the mock-surprise on his face. 

“What?” He looked around, as if seeing the happy couples surrounding them for the first time. “Are you sure?”

Deckard enjoyed the annoyed frown that appeared on Luke’s face. He wondered if that was the same look he directed at Sam when she gave him attitude.

“Relax, Big Guy.” Deckard poked his chest, secretly admiring how solid Hobbs felt. “What happened to blending in?”

Realistically, blending in was just not possible. Hobbs towered above everyone else here, a fact that Deckard noted several the club’s patrons seemed to appreciate.

He watched as Luke looked around before taking a breath and relaxing his shoulders again.

“That’s better.” Deckard smiled and grasped his arms, pulling him a little closer. "But people don't usually stand around in the middle of a dancefloor."

Hobbs snapped his attention back to Deckard. It was kind of adorable to see him so out of his element. All wide-eyed like a boy at his first dance.

But Deckard also knew he was pushing his luck, possibly revealing something that only his existing family knew.

He, Hattie, and Owen had always enjoyed that they had that in common. Being attracted to more than just the opposite sex. 

Deckard had plenty of one-night stands. It was really the only kind of relationship he had the time and mind for. It had been a long while since he'd even considered entering a relationship. Not since he was forced out of the British Special Forces. Not since Brixton.

But now… Now he couldn't help but notice how Luke's eyes reminded him of dark melted chocolate. The kind that was a little bitter at first taste, but always left you wanted more.

And it scared Deckard a little, how badly he _wanted_.

It was so much easier to bicker and fight instead of reflecting on the inconvenient feelings that had taken root in his chest the first time Hobbs smiled at him. After he helped Toretto save his son, and the mission was over, Deckard hoped those feelings would whither. But they didn't. They bloomed and spread, going warm and squeezing his heart every time he thought about the other man.

But Luke had a kid. Which admittedly didn't mean he was straight, but that wasn't the kind of question you just drop on someone like Hobbs. Especially considering their more than complicated history.

No. It was better to stay safe. Why bother thinking about something that was never going to happen.

But that didn't mean Deckard couldn't tease. That was one of the foundational bricks that formed their partnership after all.

That's all this was, Deckard told himself as he stepped further into Hobbs's personal space. Teasing. It didn't have to mean anything.

Deckard could see the wheels turning in Luke’s head as he stared down at him with an unreadable expression. He was waiting for Hobbs to ask what he was doing, or maybe put a little more space between the two of them.

He wasn’t expecting Luke to rest his hands on his hips and set the tempo as the two of them began to sway on the dancefloor. Thank god the DJ switched to a slow song.

“Now who needs to relax?” Luke joked, making Deckard realize how his entire body had stiffened at the contact.

He tried to loosen up, copying the posture of the other couples around them. But then Luke smiled. And those pesky feelings holding his heart captive began to make his chest ache again.

“How about you stop worrying about me and start worrying about your dancing, Twinkle Toes.” Deckard said, not quite managing to add a convincing amount of bite to his words. It felt more like a perfunctory response than anything else.

“Oh, this isn’t dancing.” Luke shook his head. “You wanna see some real dancing, you should come by my place sometime. I’ll show you a thing or two.”

Both of them paused.

“That’s not what I-” Luke stuttered. “I didn’t mean it like…” 

Deckard liked watching him flounder. Hobbs was such a put-together person, it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone.

He shrugged, glancing around the room. “Pity.”

They’d gotten to the edge of the crowd, as close to the back room as possible without making it obvious. Deckard mulled over the best way for them to get closer.

An idea came to mind. He turned, reaching for Luke’s arm and tugged him along. “Come on. Let’s find ourselves some privacy.”

The music picked up again, beating into their chests from the loud-speakers as Deckard guided them around tables and over to the back room.

Luke must have understood what Deckard meant by ‘privacy,’ because after a few steps he felt a large hand experimentally grasp his hip. When it was met with no resistance, the presence strengthened.

Deckard pretended to trip, and smiled to himself when Hobbs caught him around the waist. He took the opportunity to grab an empty glass off a table and carried it loosely in his hand as they neared the back doors.

Show time.

* * *

Being guided to the back of the club by Deckard felt like being tethered to an element of nature. The only thing Luke could do was hold on for the ride.

“Scuse me fellas.” Deckard slurred and tried to walk the two of them past security. When they held out an arm, he stumbled back, bumping into Luke’s chest.

Luke had been working on a few different ways for them to get to Karl. This wasn’t one of them. But a lot of unexpected things had happened since they entered the club.

Deckard looked into Hobbs’s eyes in confusion before turning back to the men in suits. “Sorry, isn't this the way to the loo? We were just looking for some privacy.” He winked.

Luke’s first instinct was to assert that he was _not_ the type to hook up with someone in a public restroom. At the very least, he’d take them out to dinner first. 

But then he remembered that they were on a mission, and buying Deckard dinner was the least of his concerns right now. 

It surprised Luke that that last thought didn’t completely disgust him. It would have a couple years ago, when all they were to each other were enemies. But now...? 

Luke leaned into Deckard’s back, feeling him fluster beneath his hands as they roved to the smaller man’s belt. After all, Luke justified to himself, they had to make it look convincing.

There was always the possibility that these men knew exactly who Hobbs and Shaw were. In which case they were in deep shit. But there was also a good chance that they were employed by the club and had no connection to Karl or the criminal organization hiding behind closed doors.

Considering that they weren’t being shot at just yet, Luke was willing to bet on the latter.

“Come on, we’ll be quick.” Deckard pressed forward.

Luke’s second instinct was to emphatically declare that they certainly will _not_ be quick, because he liked to take his time with these things. He was a big fan of making sure both parties enjoyed themselves before finishing.

But, again, that was a thought for some other time. 

Instead, Luke let Deckard use his body as an impromptu battering ram, forcing their way past the guards and at the same time making it look like they just had too much to drink.

The bouncers followed after them. “Sirs, you can’t-!”

The second there was a door separating them from the crowded dance floor, they leapt into action. Deckard shattered the glass he was carrying into the face of one of the guards while Luke pulled the other man into a headlock, squeezing until he stopped struggling.

The fight was over in a matter of minutes, leaving Luke and Deckard staring down at the unconscious bodies of the bouncers.

“Well then,” Deckard readjusted his rolled-up sleeves and gestured down the empty hallway. “Shall we?”

Surprisingly, they only came across a few guards along the way. Maybe Luke was just used to criminal masterminds with storage containers filled with hired guns. But these smaller organizations felt too easy now.

By the time Luke and Deckard kicked open the door to Karl’s back-office, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

The man behind the desk threw himself back in his chair in surprise. “Scheisse!”

At the same time Luke noticed Karl going for a gun, Deckard picked up a small marble paperweight beside the door and threw it at the man’s throat.

As Karl grasped his throat, choking and gurgling at the impact, Luke marched across the room and pinned him face-down against the desk. Deckard picked up the discarded gun and took a step back so Karl could see him.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked.

Karl spat and said something in German that Hobbs didn’t catch.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Deckard nodded at Luke, giving him permission to apply a little persuasive pressure. Literally.

Luke pressed his elbow against the side of Karl’s head and pressed down. The man screamed and tried to wriggle free. But he was clearly the type to let his men do all the heavy lifting. His struggles barely even registered to Hobbs.

“Now we both know you, and a lot of other nasty people, were offered a great deal of money to deliver me to someone.” Deckard sat down in a chair beside the desk. “What I want to know is, where’s the drop-off point.”

He fiddled with the gun, casually pointing it at Karl. But Luke knew he wasn’t actually being careless. Through the entire time he waved the gun around, Deckard never pointed it at him.

“Fick dich!” Karl snarled.

Deckard’s mouth twitched. “Not really in the mood, sorry.”

He stood and slid the chamber of the handgun back directly in Karl’s ear. “It’s a loud crowd out there. They probably wouldn’t even hear the gunshot.” 

“I’d listen if I were you.” Luke added. “He’s already killed three men in the last few days. And he’s looking to kill at least one more.”

Karl glared and struggled against Luke for a moment longer before groaning in frustration.

“We...” He spoke with a heavy German accent. “We were supposed to take you to a warehouse.”

Luke leaned more weight onto his head. “Where?”

Karl screamed at the added pressure. “The chemical factory! Rudersdorf!”

Luke and Deckard shared a glance. At the Brit’s nod, he released Karl.

“Now was that so hard?” Luke asked, before immediately smashing Karl’s head into the desk and letting his unconscious body tumble to the ground.

* * *

Deckard found he liked watching Hobbs use brute force. In the past he’d been too busy fighting to appreciate the other man in action.

“Is he alive?” He asked, rounding the desk.

Luke bent down and checked for a pulse. “Yeah.”

“Pity.” Deckard pointed the gun and shot Karl twice. One in the leg and one in the chest.

Hobbs started at the noise. “What the hell, Shaw!”

“Relax, he’ll walk it off.” Deckard dug around the desk until he found a spare clip, pocketing it. He paused. “Well, not _actually_ walk. The point is, he won’t be sending anyone after us for a while.”

Luke should be grateful he didn’t just kill Karl outright. That’s what he’d like to do. But as much as he was loathed to admit it, the man should be brought to justice. Hobbs must be rubbing off on him. Gross.

“Come on, we should get going.” Deckard began walking toward the door. “Rudersdorf’s far, but if we leave now we should get there before sunrise.”

“Do we have a plan for once we get there?” Luke followed him as they trekked back through the hall and into the club.

That question was still hounding Deckard. He didn’t know what they’d be walking into. But at the very least, now he had a gun. 

As Deckard weaved through the crowd, his mind strayed to him and Luke dancing. It had been nice, being that close to Hobbs in a non-combative environment, but it was stupid to let his guard down. It was stupid to lose focus on the task at hand, especially when the stakes were so high.

“Deckard?” Luke called after him once they got outside.

So he was ‘Deckard’ again, huh?

He slowed to a halt amidst the Berlin nightlife and turned. “What?”

Luke frowned down at him. “Do you have something against sharing plans with people or are you genuinely planning on just winging it when you confront your father?”

Deckard crossed his arms over his chest. The cold night air nipped against his exposed skin. “I understand where you’re coming from. I do. And if this were anyone else, I would happily strategize with you until you were completely satisfied.” He absently enjoyed how that wording made Luke fluster slightly. 

“But this is my father. And I know that no matter what I plan for, he’ll still have the upper hand.”

“So then we do some recon.” Luke suggested. “Let’s at least slow down and find out exactly what we’re up against before we even enter the building.”

“Excuse me, sir?” A woman hesitantly walked up to them, holding out her phone. She looked as confused as they were. “The man on the phone said I should give this to you?”

Deckard stared at the phone like it might burn him. If he were being honest with himself, he’d been waiting for this call.

He took the offered device and held it up to his ear, already knowing who was on the other end. “Yes?”

“Hello Deckard.”

And there it was. The voice that haunted him his entire life.

“Victor.” He responded, causing Luke to immediately step closer.

“That’s all I get from my first born?” The accented voice spoke on the other end, clearly not actually hurt by the brisk greeting. “No ‘long time no see’?”

“Must have slipped my mind.” Deckard looked around at surrounding buildings. “Are you around?”

“I’ve always been around.” Victor said. “Despite your best efforts.”

There was a biting taunt behind those last words.

“I had wondered how you survived.” No one besides the woman who had the phone was paying them any attention. More likely than not, Victor Shaw was far away from here.

“Now, you know better than to expect me to explain myself.”

Deckard gave a thin smile. “Why did you call?”

“I got the feeling you were starting to think you could actually get out of this somehow. It was entertaining at first, but now you’re starting to bore me.”

Deckard stiffened. He knew what it usually meant when his father got bored.

After a moment of silence Victor spoke again. “Do I have your attention now?”

Luke must have noticed the change, because he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“Yes.” Deckard responded curtly, ignoring Hobbs for the moment.

“Good.” His father said. “I’m calling, as I’m sure you've guessed by now, because I’ve recently gotten a hold of God’s Eye.”

“You didn’t seem to have much trouble finding me without it.” Deckard intentionally tried to shy away from the fact that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t say ‘trouble finding _us_.’ He didn’t want his dad to think more about Hobbs that he probably already did. Deckard preferred it if he could keep his father’s ire focused on him and him alone.

“Because I have money. And when you have enough money, you can pay the entire underbelly of the world to find you.” Victor responded dismissively. “But now that I have God’s Eye, I can do things like this…”

There was a rustling of papers, and then he was reciting an address. But not just any address.

“So you found my safehouse.” Deckard tried to play it off like it didn’t matter. He would have preferred it if he and Luke could have stopped by to grab some supplies, but they could make do.

“Oh, now this is the best part.” He could hear the smile on his father’s face. “You see, I wasn’t looking for your safehouse.”

A terrible feeling pooled in the pit of Deckard’s stomach.

When he didn’t respond, Victor spoke again. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what I was looking for? Go ahead. Ask.” He waited a moment longer before saying again, with a deeper, more threatening tone. “Ask me, Deckard.”

Deckard licked his lips. “What were you looking for?”

“It’s not what. It’s who.”

That terrible feeling crawled up his throat until it spread like frostbite into his chest.

Deckard wanted to say something. Anything that would change what he knew his father was going to say next. 

But he knew the rules. 

“Who?” Deckard asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Victor spoke the words like he reveled in them. “Apparently your siblings were looking for you. But I think the only thing they’re going to find is trouble.”

“Don’t…” Deckard turned, like his father was physically present, and he could confront him right now. But all he got was an empty space and Luke’s concerned stare.

“It’s too late. You won’t be able to protect them this time.” Victor paused. “But I know how much you like to defy me, so I’m going to give you a chance.”

Deckard listened as his father listed off instructions and then promptly hung up. He stared at the phone in his hand and took a deep breath before handing it back to the confused, yet patient woman it belonged to. “Danke.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a moment to take in the city around him. He’d always liked Berlin.

“Deckard?”

He turned and stared at Luke. Admiring the way the red and purple neon of the surrounding clubs illuminated his face and reflected in his eyes.

So many missed opportunities.

“Plan's changed.” Deckard said.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the final chapters here! Which is exciting but also nerve-wracking because I want to be sure I'm getting all my ducks in a row so everything pays off.   
> Work has started up again so I'm a little busier these days, but I hope you all are well! 
> 
> WARNING: There is mention of animal death is this chapter. One of the characters talking about a past event, but if you don't want to read that, stop reading at the line "The silhouette of a cat..." and scroll until the line “Deckard has always looked out for you two, huh?”

Owen was grateful for the fact that the attached garage of the safehouse was fully equipped. He was able to retreat to its quiet familiarity and work on one of the cars. It was so much easier to immerse yourself in the engine of a machine than try to understand people. Once again, Deckard was looking out for him. 

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Letty’s voice announced her presence as she stood in the doorway. “You hiding?”

“If I were, I’m not doing a very good job of it.” Owen looked up from the engine. “Did you come out here to keep an eye on me?”

Letty grimaced and stepped further into the room, resting her hands on her belt.

“We need to talk.”

“I know.” Owen wiped his hands with a rag and rested against the car. He thought it might belong to Roman, but he wasn’t sure. The only thing that mattered to him was it was a car.

The two of them hadn’t been alone in a room together since before this got started. And he had the sneaking suspicion that was something both of them worked hard to orchestrate. Probably because they were both avoiding this conversation.

Letty leaned against a workbench. She’d strategically placed herself so she was looking at the scarred side of his face. A subtle reminder that he couldn’t hide from her.

“What happened… What you did in Spain, sacrificing me and the rest of your team for some needless cause?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t okay.”

Owen looked down. Sacrificing Letty was a means to an end, but he wasn’t proud of it. He knew he was going to lose her the minute Toretto entered the equation. He’d been too proud to admit that he was lonely without his siblings. Deckard was on the run, and Hattie was in MI6 ignoring both her brothers’ existence. Letty filled that void.

“But,” Letty continued. “You made me feel like I was part of a family. Even though you were trying to replace the one I already had.”

She stepped closer, keeping a familiar distance between the two of them. “But I get it now. You were trying to replace your own family too.”

Owen fiddled with the wrench in his hand and met her eyes. Letty was right, he just didn’t have the words to say it. He and his siblings were never told how to talk about things like this. Apologizing was a sign of weakness. Something they were only allowed to offer to their father.

Letty didn’t know everything about the Shaws, but she knew Owen.

"I forgive you.”

Three simple words. But their recitation lifted a weight from Owen’s shoulders he didn’t even realize he was carrying.

Thank you, Letty.” The words felt clumsy coming out of his mouth, but he could tell they were appreciated.

One of the corners of Letty’s mouth turned up into something reminiscent of a smile before it quickly fell away again. “I'm not asking you to trust us. Trust that we want Hobbs safe as bad as you want Deckard back."

Now that was something Owen could do. Besides, he wanted to prove to Letty that he was someone worth forgiving. 

He nodded. “You and Toretto must care about Agent Hobbs quite a lot then.” 

“Of course. He’s family.” Letty gave him a level stare. “You three could be family too, if you wanted.”

Owen grinned and shook his head. “If you haven’t noticed, Deck, Hattie, and I haven’t had much luck with family. Besides, I doubt Dom would be too keen on the idea.”

“You’d be surprised.” Letty shrugged and began to make her way back to the house.

At the same time, Toretto pulled into the driveway. He’d gone to tap off the gas tanks of the cars they’d managed to procure.

“Oh, and Owen?” Letty looked from Dom’s approaching form then back to Owen. “If you threaten my life again…?”

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands appeasingly. “You’ll kill me.”

Letty smirked before disappearing back into the house.

“She’ll do it, you know.” Toretto stated as he approached him. 

Owen set the wrench down and crossed his arms. “I know.”

He also knew he should at least try to be agreeable towards Dominic, but old habits die hard.

If Toretto sensed anything, he didn’t let on. He merely set a case of Coronas on top of the car, grabbing one for himself, and leaned against the same workbench Letty had only moments before.

"You know, there were some kids in my neighborhood growing up that had some pretty tough fathers."

Owen fought back the urge to roll his eyes, choosing to grab a beer bottle instead. He never understood why Toretto and his team were so attached to the brand. There were certainly far better options.

"There's a difference between tough and sadistic."

Dom uncapped his bottle and took a sip, watching him. Instinctively, Owen wanted to shift his stance, so he was hiding the burned side of his face. But he was never one to back down, something that his brother often bemoaned.

“Usually sons don’t end up killing their own fathers. No matter how sadistic they could be.”

Owen fiddled with the label on the bottle. “Well, Victor wasn’t an ordinary kind of father. He raised us to be soldiers, not people.”

There was no judgement in Dom’s eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned back, like they were just two people swapping stories over a beer.

"When did that training start?"

Owen’s first instinct was to say it was none of Dom’s business. But then he remembered what Letty said. 

He sighed. "Since we were kids. Just in different ways. Our early childhood was dedicated to lock picking, languages, intellect. He'd strike us with a belt if we weren't living up to his expectations."

The silhouette of a cat strolled through the lawn across the street, not a care in the world.

“Then one day, our father gave Deckard a cat. He let him take care of it for six months before telling Deck he had to kill it.”

A thick silence settled in the garage.

“Did he?” Dom asked.

Owen remembered the ginger tabby. It used to sleep cuddled next to Deck every night. They’d named it Milo.

When Milo disappeared, Owen and Hattie had just thought he’d run away. They didn’t know what their father had ordered their brother to do. It wasn’t until a few years later that Owen found out what happened. When Victor got him his own cat.

“No.” He said. “Deckard couldn’t do it.”

He felt Dom relax next to him.

“So, our father killed it in front of him.”

Silence once again filled the space. Owen wasn’t surprised. He didn’t expect Toretto to have an appropriate response to something like that.

“Did he do that to all of you?”

The question was unexpected. Usually people didn’t want to hear more after that kind of announcement.

Owen glanced over at Dom, gauging how much the other man actually wanted to know. It was weird having someone ask about stuff like this.

“Yes.” He looked away. Not proud of what he was going to say next. “But when I refused to kill mine, our father made Deck do it.”

Owen had always felt guilty about that. He remembered how his brother had shut down afterwards. He wished Deckard weren’t so inclined to take hits for his siblings (literally and metaphorically). 

“And with your sister...?”

The full question was implied, and Owen understood.

He didn’t have it in him to describe the feeling of ending a fragile innocent life at such a young age. Deckard had tried to intervene. But their father made it extremely clear that if Hattie couldn’t do it, it had to be Owen.

“Deckard has always looked out for you two, huh?”

Dom’s voice was low, but surprisingly gentle. 

Owen shrugged. “We’re family.”

“And here I thought you didn’t care about family.” The tone had a teasing lilt to it, causing Owen to look up.

He smirked, remembering his little speech about codes and family when he and Dom first met. 

“I said being loyal to family made you vulnerable and predictable. I never said me and my siblings weren’t guilty of sharing the same code.”

Dom smiled back, lifting his bottle in cheers. “To family.”

And just like that, they found common ground. Owen uncapped his own beer and tapped it against Dom’s. “To family.”

A different kind of silence filled the garage as they both drank. After a moment Dom asked. "How old was he?"

Owen understood the question. Considering their father had been dead for over two decades, Deckard had to have been young when he killed him.

"Eighteen."

Dom nodded in contemplation. "It makes you wonder what was so bad that he'd rather kill his own father than let you and Hattie go through it."

Owen didn't like to think about it.

He remembered when their father brought Deckard home after he turned sixteen. He remembered the hollow look in his eyes and the way he flinched whenever someone came up behind him.

"Yeah." Owen took a swig of the beer.

Their lives changed after Deck killed their father. Mostly for the better, since they didn’t have Victor breathing down their necks and coming up with new ways to torture them.

But it was also when the three of them started thinking about their future. Which normally was a new and exciting thing for kids their age. But they'd never seriously considered a world where they were free to do whatever they wanted.

It was overwhelming.

Owen wasn't surprised when all three of them were drawn to the military. It was a familiar structure and environment, and boot camp was a breeze compared to their father’s tests.

Owen also wasn't surprised when all three of them were selected for MI6 and special ops units when they got older.

As much as he hated to admit it, their father had succeeded in training them to be the best. But instead of the best of the criminal underworld, they were the best of the British Military.

Owen liked to imagine their father was rolling in the grave at that thought. But now that he knew Victor was alive...

He frowned. "What changed?"

"What?" Dom asked, waiting for further explanation. But Owen was too immersed in the multitude of questions that had just occurred to him.

"Deckard didn't kill Victor, so he faked his own death. Why? And clearly he kept an eye on us. He was too much of a narcissist to let us go completely.” Owen stood and began pacing. “So he saw all our decisions, things he never would have approved of, and he let us go through with it. Why? Why didn't he kill Deck immediately after he tried to kill him? And why did he choose now to come after him?"

Dom nodded, catching on. "Something must have happened."

“O’!” Hattie burst into the garage. “We think we know where Deckard is!”

Owen turned to face his sister, his train of thought temporarily interrupted. “How?”

“Come on!” She disappeared back inside the house, leaving Owen and Dom to follow.

Everyone was watching Ramsey and Tej as they compared something on their computer screens. Owen sidled up next to Hattie as they watched the computer technicians work.

“Here is where we lost the signal on his cell.” Ramsey pulled up a map, a red dot appearing in the mountain region.

“A day later, here, there was a police report of a fight breaking out in a hotel.” Tej tapped a few keys, and another dot appeared on the map. “The men who got arrested turned out to be mercenaries.”

“Then there was a report of a car accident on the road here.” A third dot appeared as Ramsey spoke. “The car was later found in Berlin. Where just an hour ago, there was another police report of a bar fight downtown. It turned out the club was a front for a drug trafficking ring.”

“The club is only eleven miles away.” Hattie turned, grinning at Owen. “He’s coming Owen.”

He followed the trail of dots, forming a perfect path to Berlin. 

Owen did the math. “He should have been here by now Hat.” 

She looked back to the screen. He could see her running the same calculations in her head.

If Deckard wasn’t here, then something must have happened.

Before Owen could verbalize that thought, the silence was shattered by projectiles being thrown through the windows. One rolled between his feet. A small cylinder emitting some kind of smoke. He could already feel the effect. 

“Sleeping gas!” Owen kicked the metal tube away, but it was futile. At least four had been thrown into the house. And judging by the way Roman was already staggering as he tried to kick away one of the other devices, they were in trouble.

Ramsey collapsed to the ground, followed quickly by the rest of Dom’s crew, with him being the last.

Hattie coughed through the smoke. “O’?” 

“Here!” He called. “Come on and help.”

Owen scooped Letty up and threw her over his shoulder as he reached down and grabbed Dom and Roman, dragging them towards the glass sliding doors and hopefully their escape. He could see the vague silhouette of Hattie doing the same with Ramsey and Tej.

He could feel his legs growing weaker beneath him with every step. But they were so close. 

If they could just get outside…

Owen heard Hattie shout and collapse behind him. But he didn’t have time to turn around or react before something hard struck the back of his head.

The last thing Owen thought was, he couldn’t believe he was going to die trying to save Dominic Toretto.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far. You've all been so nice and welcoming, and it's made me so excited and motivated to keep writing this story.  
> You finally get to officially meet Victor Shaw in the update, so get excited!

They’d stolen another car for their trip to the Rudersdorf Chemical Factory.

Hobbs liked to think they were just borrowing it. He had every intention of returning it once this was all over. He’d have preferred they didn’t have to steal at all, but driving around in a busted up cab would have drawn too much attention.

He’d broken quite a few rules since his first meeting with the Shaws family.

“Not much farther.” Luke spoke in the general direction of the only other occupant in the car.

Deckard had been abnormally quiet the entire drive. He’d never been much of a talker to begin with. But this was a different kind of silence.

Instead of keeping his eyes focused, planning for the upcoming mission, he was staring out the window. The outskirts of the city passed like blurred watercolors, illuminated by spartan purples, reds, and greens.

“So, are you going to tell me what your father said, or are we just driving in silence the whole way there?”

Deckard blinked, coming back to himself as he looked over at Hobbs. There was something different about the way the brit stared at him. Wistful. Like there was no point in withholding anymore. Luke wasn’t sure he liked that look.

After a moment Deckard spoke.

“He’s got Hattie and Owen.”

Shit. 

Luke chanced a glance at Deckard before returning his gaze back to the road. Shaw tried to kill Dom and his entire team when Owen was in trouble. And he was nearly willing to let fifty percent of the world’s population melt away if it meant he had a chance to save Hattie. Luke didn’t want to know what Deckard was willing to do when both his siblings were in danger.

“Is there anything I can do?” Luke absently wished they had more than just the handgun Deckard picked up at the club. Fortunately he didn’t need a weapon to pose a threat to someone.

“Can’t divert from his instructions.” Deckard looked back out the window. His voice got quieter, like he was just talking to himself. “One last game to save them.”

Luke didn’t like the resignation tinging the other man’s voice. “But you’ve got a plan. You’ve got a way out of this, right?”

Deckard didn’t answer. 

“Deck…?”

“I thought I could beat him once. And look what that got me.” He still wasn’t looking at Luke. Like he didn’t want to. Like Luke was a fire and it’d burn him if he got too close.

“It got you a _life_ , Deckard.” Luke pushed. “It got your _siblings_ a life.”

“And now it’s time to pay for that.” His fingers absently traced over the compartment between them, with each circulation growing wider until he was just coming short of touching Luke’s arm. As if noticing this, Deckard withdrew his hand.

Luke’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I’m not just going to stand by and watch you die, Deckard.”

“You’re not going to.”

A terrible feeling settling in the pit of Luke’s stomach. “What are you talking about.”

“Victor was very clear. I go in alone.”

Luke slammed on the brakes. It was the early morning hours, so there was no risk of causing an accident. He turned, glaring at Deckard. “No. No way. I-”

Deckard looked at him again with that plaintive stare. “I need you to make sure Owen and Hattie leave.”

The words took him by surprise. It was the closest Luke had ever heard him come to begging.

Deckard wasn’t expecting to live past today. And he trusted Hobbs enough to ask him to keep his siblings safe. But Luke didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be the cleanup crew left to deal with the fallout of Deckard’s life. He didn’t want to mourn.

Luke turned back to the road and began driving again. “I’ll help you save your family. But we’re doing this together.”

He could hear more than see Deckard’s incredulous stare. “Does nothing I say get through that thick skull of yours?”

Luke fought the urge to grin. “We just started getting along. You think I’m going to give you up without a fight?”

“You could die.” He argued.

Luke shrugged. “So could you.”

Deckard groaned and thumped his head against the headrest. “It’s not the same. This is my family. You don’t have to get involved.”

“Yeah well maybe I want to be involved.”

Deckard froze, slowly turning back to Hobbs.

For a moment they just stared at each other. Like they were standing on either edge of a chasm, waiting for the other to cross first.

Deckard cleared his throat. “What? Don’t want to lose the only person who can stand looking at that big ugly face of yours?”

This time Luke did smile. He glanced back at the road. “Nah, I just like the novelty of having a hobbit for a partner.”

“And when the novelty wears off?”

Luke let the question hang in the air a moment. He didn’t want his answer to feel flippant. “It won’t.”

“Luke…” Deckard shook his head.

“We’re both going to get through this Deckard.” Luke let the car slow, buying them a little more time. “We’re going to stop your father, save your family, and we’re going to figure out what happens next together.”

Deckard looked like he didn’t quite believe him. But he wanted to.

“Alright. But let me go in first. If my father sees the both of us coming, he might kill Hattie and Owen.”

Luke wanted to argue. But he knew Deckard was right. They needed to be careful. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Seven.”

Deckard smiled.

Luke wanted to say so much more. Turn those brief allusions of affection into absolute clarity.

But now was not the time. Luke knew how he felt. And now Deckard did too. More importantly, he was pretty confident Deckard felt the same.

That would have to be enough for now.

* * *

Deckard spotted a sniper on the roof as he approached the abandoned factory.

It was a three-story concrete structure as grey as the early morning sky. What wasn’t crumbling was either covered in graffiti or already collapsed onto the overgrown grass surrounding the building.

His father hadn’t specified where he was supposed to go. But as he entered the structure, Deckard had the feeling that he would be shown the way very soon.

“Hands where I can see them.” A male voice growled from the shadows.

Deckard complied, slowly lifting his hands to eye level. He wasn’t in danger right now. If his father wanted him dead already the sniper would have taken him out before he even reached the building.

“Turn around.”

Again, Deckard followed the instruction. He heard two sets of footfalls approach, and a moment later felt the muzzle of a gun press into the side of his head as someone else secured his hands in heavy cuffs.

When they turned him around, he could see the silhouette of a third man standing in the hallway. Someone far too young to be his father. Deckard wagered that this was the leader of whatever mercenary group Victor bought off.

“Where is he?” He asked.

As the man approached, Deckard got a better sense of the hs size. He was huge. The same height and build as Hobbs. But that’s where the likeness stopped. His eyes were a steely blue, and his ruddy skin was littered with scars.

“All in good time.” The man spoke with a Russian accent as he leered down at him before nodding at the two other guards.

A shove from one of the gunmen directed Deckar further down the hallway strewn with fallen leaves and debris.

They walked in silence until they came to a large open room with only a few iron beams stretched between them and the ceiling that rose all the way to the roof. Pigeons nested overhead, where the occasional bat of feathered wings echoed throughout the space.

“Charming.” Deckard deadpanned, casually glancing about the area.

Aside from the large containers that looked as old as the building itself, the only things decorating the space were four metal folding chairs and a long wooden table.

“If I’d known we were having a party I would have brought drinks.” Deckard mused as the lead mercenary yanked him to a stop in the middle of the room.

Aside from the furniture, it didn’t look like there was much he could use as a weapon. Maybe some of the bricks and debris along the walls if he got close enough…

“Did you search him?” A familiar voice echoed from behind.

Deckard looked over his shoulder along with the mercenaries, watching as Victor Shaw emerged from the shadows. 

He’d aged, as Deckard expected, although his greying hair still had a tint of its dark roots. The lines on his face had deepened, looking as if they’d been carved by the elements themselves. But his black, shark-like eyes remained as sharp and calculating as ever, suggesting the cruel intellect beneath.

What Deckard hadn’t been expecting were the burns. All along the side of his face and disappearing beneath his collared coat, his skin was scarred and deformed. As if it were melted and poorly reshaped like candle wax. 

“Hello Deckard.” He ran a gloved hand down his marred cheek. “Admiring your handywork?”

“Wishing I’d done a lot worse, actually.” Deckard answered.

Victor smiled, the scars on his face tightening his mouth into something closer resembling a grimace. He turned back to the head mercenary.

“Did you search him, Michail?” He repeated.

The leader, Michail, watched Victor with a level stare. “You said that was not necessary.”

“I said he wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring a weapon.” He glanced at Deckard. “Did you bring a weapon?”

Deckard shook his head, prompting Victor to shake his own and smile at the surrounding mercenaries.

“But then again, my son has been prone to dishonestly in the past.” He gestured to Michail. “Search him.”

The larger man invaded his space, running his hands up and down his body, probably more thoroughly than necessary and lingering in areas that Deckard certainly noticed, although he couldn’t do anything about.

After a moment, Michail stepped back, smiling at Deckard before turning back to his father.

“Nothing.”

“Interesting.” He absently rubbed his hands together before looking back to Deckard. “Now, shall we begin?”

“Show me Owen and Hattie first.” Deckard growled. He knew he was in no position to bargain, but if he didn’t hold Victor to his word it would be easy for his father to let things slide.

Victor’s smile pressed into a thin line, not liking being given an order.

They stared each other down for a moment, father and son, before Victor nodded to the two guards that accompanied Michail.

Without a word, they disappeared down a different hallway.

This was good. It looked like his father was working with a smaller team, so the more people who were busy with Deckard, the fewer there would be to spot Luke when he arrived.

“You’ve taken more after your mother, haven’t you? I can tell.” Victor spoke as he circled his son, taking him in. “How is she by the way?”

“The same.” Deckard kept his eyes focused on the hallway that led to his siblings.

There was a hint of amusement in his father’s tone. “Age hasn’t mellowed her out then?” 

“I don’t think our family is capable of something like that.” Deckard responded absent-mindedly. 

“You did.”

That got his attention.

Deckard frowned and looked at Victor. His father watched him carefully, tilting his head with a knowing smile. “Come now. Don’t act like you haven’t changed since…”

“Since…?” Deckard remained motionless. But Victor only shook his head, his grin broadening.

“You’ll know in a moment.”

Deckard didn’t like the sound of that. But before he could press his father for further information, he heard feet scuffling and the sound of Hattie snarling insults.

“When I get my hands on you I swear you’ll regret ever making it out of primary school you damn bastard!”

Hattie’s voice arrived in the main room before she did. But when Deckard did catch sight of his little sister, his blood began to boil.

The guards were half-dragging, half-guiding Hattie and Owen into the space. Their arms were tied behind their backs, and there were bags over their heads.

While Deckard absently wondered why Owen was being so quiet, Hattie continued to spit and swear. 

“You better be on the other side of the planet by the time we get out of here you son of a-”

Victor gestured for the men to remove the bags. The youngest Shaw siblings squinted at the sudden influx of light, but they quickly regained their composure.

Hattie blinked and looked around until her eyes landed on Deckard.

“Deck!”

Owen had been gagged. That’s why he hadn’t joined Hattie in her litany of insults. They probably would have gagged her too if they weren’t afraid of losing their fingers. But what Owen lacked in verbal attacks, he made up with the death glare he was directing at the mercenaries holding them captive.

“Well, isn’t this a charming little reunion.” Victor clasped his hands together, effectively drawing the attention back to himself.

Hattie and Owen stared wide-eyed at a man they hadn’t seen in over two decades.

“Look at you.” Victor waved a hand between his children. “I must say it was fascinating watching you three grow up. Seeing what you inherited from me even in my absence.”

He walked up to Owen, squinting at the scars that marred half of the younger Shaw’s face. “Some, being more surprising than others.”

Owen tried to lunge at him, but one of the guards held him back. 

“Now, now. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Victor turned back to Deckard. “In fact, there were even some rare moments where I was genuinely proud of you.”

Deckard knew what moment Victor was referring to. It had haunted him his entire life. Hating that the first and only time Victor Shaw told Deckard he was proud of him, was with his final breath.

“Shall we get this over with?” Deckard’s shoulders raised in a shrug, somewhat weighed down from the heavy restraints around his wrists.

“All in good time.” Victor walked over to the table and tossed some rope to the two mercenaries. “String them up.”

Deckard immediately tried to move toward his siblings but was grabbed by Michail. “You said you’d let them go!”

“Consider this insurance that you’ll behave yourself.” Victor smiled and shrugged as he watched Hattie and Owen struggle against their captors. But with guns to their heads and their hands bound, there was little they could do.

And all Deckard could do was watch as ropes were wrapped around their necks, with the other ends tossed over one of the iron beams above their heads. The final touch was forcing them to stand on two of the metal folding chairs and pulling the ropes dangerously tight.

“I told you I’d let them go regardless, Deckard. It’s your blood I want, not theirs.” Victor removed his jacket and gloves. “But the only way you can be sure I let them go, is if you survive this.”

Deckard stared up at Owen and Hattie. The metal chairs were old, and any movement made them shake and wobble beneath their feet, threatening to collapse at any moment. He so desperately wanted to reach out and help, but he knew he couldn’t. It would only make it worse for both of them. 

The only way he could save them was through pain and violence. Exactly how their father always liked it.

“Sit.”

He glanced over to where Victor was pointing. One of the two remaining chairs, facing each other.

Deckard spared one final glance at his siblings before doing as instructed. Victor didn’t restrain him. They both knew he didn’t have to. Deckard wasn’t going anywhere without Owen and Hattie.

Victor rolled up his sleeves as he approached Deckard. Then he paused.

“Oh, but what am I thinking?” He held up his hands. “We need an audience!”

Deckard felt his blood run cold as Victor clapped, prompting more scuffling sounds to echo from the tunnel that he’d arrived from. Deckard knew what was coming.

The sniper and another mercenary marched Luke into the room at gunpoint.

* * *

“We found your friend trying to come around back while Michail picked you up.” A man, who Luke could only assume was Victor Shaw pulled out the handgun Deckard had given him. “He was carrying this…” 

Things didn’t look like they were going as smooth as they’d have liked. Hattie and Owen were balancing atop old chairs. One false and they’d hang themselves. And everyone except Hobbs and the Shaw siblings had weapons.

“I’m sorry Deckard.” Luke said, allowing one of the guards to shove him down in the remaining folding chair and chain his arms to a metal ring built into the floor behind his back.

An odd look crossed Deckard’s face. Something like Deja Vu maybe. Luke wondered if he was thinking about the last time they were stuck in chairs across from each other. It was so much easier to be indifferent to Deckard back then.

But now...?

Deckard began to open his mouth to speak when Victor lashed out. 

Luke didn’t see the hit. For an older man Shaw Senior was still lightning fast. He only knew Victor hit Deckard because he nearly fell out of his chair from the impact.

Deckard corrected himself, breathing through his teeth as he sat up straight.

“Bastard.” Hattie growled.

Victor turned and pointed the gun at her, causing Luke and her brothers to freeze.

“You say another word, and this is going to get a lot worse for all of you.” Her father warned.

There was a tense moment where Victor kept the gun trained on Hattie. No one moved.

Then without warning he turned and used the gun to strike Deckard in the side of the head.

“Hey!” Luke strained against the chains. He could swear he felt the ring give a little. The factory was old, maybe if he pulled hard enough…

“Now we can finally start.” Victor spoke as he pistol-whipped his son three more times. “We have a lot to discuss.”

The handgun had cut open one of Deckard’s eyebrows, leaking blood into his eye.

But the part that made Luke most angry was how Deckard barely made a sound. He didn’t even flinch as the hits migrated from his face to his already injured torso.

Deckard, who always fought back either with his fists or with his mouth, let his father use him as a punching bag. At some point, Victor had abandoned the gun and switched to his bare fists. And as the hits kept coming, Luke got the sense that this kind of detached response only came from experience. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hattie and Owen occasionally flinch or try to lean forward, just as desperate to help Deckard as Luke was.

He couldn’t see exactly what was happening, since Victor was standing between him and Deckard, but Luke could hear everything. The nauseating sound of a fist striking flesh. Blood and saliva splattering against the floor. The metal chair screeching against concrete after an especially forceful blow. 

Luke wanted to scream, demanding Deckard fight back. He wasn’t restrained like Luke or his siblings. He could _do_ something. 

But that was the problem, Luke thought to himself as Victor continued his assault. He, Owen, and Hattie _were_ Deckard’s restraints. He couldn’t do anything, _wouldn’t_ do anything if it meant they’d get hurt in the process. 

Finally, Deckard spoke. And from the shaky tone of his voice, Luke could tell he was trying to smile. “Is this really all you were planning on doing? ‘Discussing’ things until I die of boredom?”

Victor had his back to Luke, so he was unable to see what the older Shaw thought of that comment, but even Luke wanted to tell Deckard to zip it. Hadn’t he had enough?

A scoff shook Victor’s shoulders as he walked back to the table. With him out of the way, Luke was finally able to get a good look at Deckard.

His face was bloody, not an inch left untouched, and tremors shook his frame as he tried to stay upright. There was blood seeping from his shoulder and side where the old wounds had been reopened.

For a moment Deckard met Luke’s eyes.

The other man was clearly in pain, but there was an unnerving peace there too. He nodded, like everything was going according to plan. Like everything was going to be alright. 

And all Luke wanted to do was scream. He subtly strained against the chain, feeling the ring give just a little more behind him.

Victor turned back around, having retrieved a military-grade cattle prod from the table.

“No, no. Not you, Deck.” He swung the device savagely at Deckard, catching him on the side of his skull and sending him tumbling to the floor. Without his hands free to break his fall, Deckard’s head cracked against the unyielding concrete.

Hattie gasped and Owen struggled against the restraints keeping him and his sister in check. But all Luke could do was stare, willing Deckard to get up. To show any sign of still being alive.

Victor Shaw turned away from Deckard’s motionless body. “It’s about time you and I had a little chat, Agent Hobbs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you have asked about who I imagined as Victor Shaw while writing this story. And I frustratingly didn't have a solid answer. But since this update included physical descriptions of Shaw Senior, I had to settle on one. Strangely enough, it wasn't any of my original choices.  
> I don't really want my image to effect the Victor Shaw you might have in your head, but if you want to know who I envision playing the part, feel free to ask in the comments below. I'd be happy to share.  
> Or tell me who you've been imagining! That'd be fun too!  
> Thank you again so much for your continued support!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe out there. You're getting a long update this time around because I know you're all sick of cliffhangers, and because I think the last thing we need right now is more uncertainty.  
> Thank you again so much for your comments. It brings me so much joy whenever I see that someone had shared how they feel about this fic.  
> Take care, and be kind to yourself.

Luke glared up at Victor. “What the hell could we possibly have to talk about?”

He’d been chased across Europe, wandered the woods, and gotten into a number of fights, all because of the man standing in front of him. The last thing he was in the mood for right now was a conversation.

Shaw Sr. tucked the cattle prod under his arm, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and cleaned the blood from his hands. He took his time, acting as if the task were far more interesting than any of the people in the room.

“Well, in a way, you _are_ responsible for all this.”

“Responsible?” Luke glanced at Owen and Hattie, looking for some kind of clue, but they seemed just as confused as he was. He turned back to their father. “What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t originally part of Deckard’s plan to include Luke in all of this. So how was any of this his fault?

Victor tilted his head and smiled, as if the answer should be obvious. But when Luke didn’t immediately have some kind of revelation, he shrugged.

“My children were all disappointments.” He waved dismissively at Hattie and Owen. “Hattie grew a conscience. Owen never met my expectations. And Deckard?” Victor slid his boot beneath Deckard’s chin and tilted it upward.

“Deckard was the biggest disappointment of them all. But not because he was never good enough. No, Deckard was ruthless. Once he had a target, not a soul on heaven or earth could keep him from the kill.”

He stared down at Deckard like one might observe a well-crafted weapon.

“I thought he was born without a soul. My own personal devil.”

He dropped his foot, letting Deckard’s head fall against the concrete again. “At least that’s what I thought.”

As Victor walked back over to the wooden table, Luke could only stare powerless at Deckard’s too-still body. He tried to focus. Tried to see if he could detect even the slightest rise and fall of his friend’s chest.

“But you see, Deckard had a weakness.” Victor glanced over from the table toward Owen and Hattie. His mouth twitched, but Luke couldn’t be sure if it was a sneer or nerve-damage from the burns. “No matter what I did, no matter how many times I punished and tried to beat the heart out of him, he still cared for those two.”

“Well he is their brother.” Luke pointed out. He understood sibling loyalty. Even when Luke wasn’t on speaking terms with his brothers, he still thought about them. Hoping they were alright. 

And considering how much Deckard and his siblings had been through? It was the kind of childhood that would make or break a familial bond.

Victor turned to appraise Luke. “Indeed.” 

He was fingering a serrated hunting knife. One of many that Luke could see were spread out across the table. “But if their bond couldn’t be broken, then it could at least be weakened. By time, distance…”

He looked over at Hattie. “Misunderstandings.”

Hattie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying you had something to do with Deck--?”

Victor drew the gun again and fired a warning shot. The bullet sliced through her left ear. Hattie gasped, stumbling on the chair and temporarily losing her balance. But even after she regained her footing, the noose stayed tight around her throat.

She was still able to breathe, but Luke could tell it was a struggle.

“What did I tell you about speaking?” Victor chided, giving Hattie a warning glare before turning back to Hobbs.

Luke wanted to strangle Victor himself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Victor smiled, holstering the handgun. “I’m not complicated. I believe in order and efficiency. I expect people to behave and perform exactly as instructed. As a lawman, I assumed you’d understand.”

Luke shook his head. “You can’t raise children like they were soldiers.”

“Oh, I didn’t raise them like children.” Victor looked over at his two conscious offspring. Hattie was too busy trying to stay on her feet to pay attention, but Owen was watching him like a hawk. “Did I ever treat you like children?”

Owen didn’t answer. He just worked his jaw around the gag in his mouth.

“They were never children, Agent Hobbs.” Victor returned his attention back to Luke. “They were dogs. Trainable. Easy to discipline.”

Luke continued to test the chain behind him, feeling it strain against the force. Maybe with one strong pull… But Victor or the surrounding mercenaries would see. Both he and the Shaw siblings would be dead before he was even out of the chair.

“After Deckard was framed for murdering his own MI6 unit, after he was on the run, rejected or unable to contact his family…” Victor picked up the cattle prod again, weighing it and the knife in his hands. “He became exactly what I'd always envisioned. Less than a ghost. A shadow. The kind of nightmare that keeps powerful people up at night, afraid of the devil being set upon them. Deckard's only purpose was to kill and destroy. It was beautiful, really.”

He stopped in front of Luke. “And then you entered the picture.”

Luke growled. “I still don’t see how any of that is my fault.” 

Victor stared down at him. One of his eyes was filmy and grey, the damage most likely occurred when half his face got burned away. But even with only one good eye, Luke felt the man’s gaze burrow deep into his soul.

“It’s your fault because ever since Deckard met you and your friends, he’s been behaving erratically. “

He took a measured step closer. “It’s your fault, because less than a week ago Deckard was planning to just let me kill him. Then you showed up at that cemetery. And once again, his motivations change. He's running, fighting back, even though he knew there was no point to it.”

Victor leaned forward, like he was searching for something in Hobbs’s eyes.

“You want to know why I brought you here instead of just killing you? Because I wanted to see the man that tamed the devil. Deckard was a monster. _My_ monster. I want to know what's so special about you that made him human.”

The truth was Luke didn’t have an answer to that question. He’d only just begun to understand the tip of the iceberg that was the Shaw family. Up until yesterday, he really didn’t know what he was to Deckard. An enemy? Friend? Something more?

Maybe Luke was a combination of all three. Deckard never was one to be easily understood. He’d much rather throw a flash grenade into someone’s assumptions and let them crawl around for the truth until the smoke clears.

That used to annoy Luke. But not anymore. He always did like a challenge.

Luke shook his head. “You better check your sources pal. Because until very recently, Deckard and I have been at each other’s throats. Hell, even when we _were_ working together, we still hated each other.”

Victor tilted his head and smiled, clearly entertained. “Then why hasn’t he killed you?”

Luke feigned nonchalance. “Maybe Deckard’s finally met his match.”

He wasn’t expecting Victor to laugh. It was an ugly sound. Hoarse, damaged from the fire, and mirthless. It sounded closer to chains grinding against metal than something a human might make.

“He’s met something alright.” He nodded. “Although I don’t think either of you know quite what yet.”

Luke set his jaw, casually maintaining eye contact. He took a breath, calming himself by imagining how satisfying it would be to bash the man’s head into the floor.

He knew what Victor wanted to hear. He wanted some kind of explanation. A reason why someone like Luke would cause Deckard to suddenly act like a human being with a heart, conscience, and moral code.

His mistake was in believing that Deckard had ever lost any of those things to begin with. They had just been safely hidden away, waiting for someone like Luke to wake them up again.

“Maybe you just didn’t train your kids as well as you thought.”

“I’d have to agree with you there, Agent Hobbs.” Victor casually readjusted his hold on the cattle prod, nodding his head. “Deckard’s the dog that bit the hand that fed him. He’s become too violent and dangerous for his own good. So, like a good owner, I’m putting him down before he does any more damage.”

He tossed the cattle prod to Michail. “Wake him up.”

Luke didn’t like the way the mercenary smiled. He’d been leering at Deckard ever since they got there. He instinctively tugged on his restraints as the mercenary approached Deckard’s prone body. 

Victor noticed, smiling. “Do you want to know the real reason why Deckard hasn’t killed you yet?”

* * *

Electricity coursed through Deckard’s body, bolting him back to consciousness with a scream. He felt his muscles tense and spasm before the pain disappeared.

His skin tingled as Deckard tried to crawl to his hands and knees. An no matter what he did, it felt like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. 

“Why don’t you tell him, Deckard?”

Deckard breathed through his teeth as he glanced up at Victor. “Wha-?”

His question was cut off as Michail shocked him again. He managed to keep himself from screaming this time. No point in giving either his father or the mercenary any added satisfaction.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out as much pain as possible. But they snapped open again as his father answered his own question.

“You’re still alive right now because my son likes you. He has a soft spot for you. In fact, I think he loves you as much as he loves his siblings, although perhaps not in the same way...” Michail gripped Deckard, hoisting him up and removing the restraints, then dropping him again. He winced as he caught himself, his palms stung from the impact against the floor.

It took all of Deckard’s courage to look up at Luke. They had danced around the subject of their relationship before, but hearing his father tear away the subtext and display his feelings for all the world to see made him feel so vulnerable. Like an exposed nerve or open wound. 

He didn’t know if he loved Luke. That was such an immense feeling for such a small word. Something he didn’t have much experience with. He thought that maybe it could be love. He wanted the chance to find out. If he just had a little more time.

But as Deckard looked into Luke’s eyes, he realized that maybe he didn’t need more time.

Hobbs wasn’t staring down at him with pity or rejection. Understanding reflected in his shining dark eyes. Anger too. But it wasn’t directed at Deckard. 

Luke eventually looked past him, toward his father. “Well, it’s a good thing I like him too then, huh?”

A shudder ran through Deckard’s body that had nothing to do with the pain or the cold. He was _wanted_. It was almost enough to make him forget that he was about to die.

“Well isn’t that sweet.” Victor’s words dripped with distaste. “Almost like a fairytale. Although this story isn’t quite over yet.”

Deckard heard him approaching from behind, but he just couldn’t take his eyes away from Luke.

“Let’s see how it ends, shall we?” Victor bent down and stabbed a knife through Deckard’s hand.

Deckard screamed, arching into himself and clutching the hilt of the blade, trying to keep it from causing any more damage.

“It’s time son.” Victor said. “One last game, eh?”

Deckard looked first at his father, then at Michail, who was brandishing the cattle prod. 

So that’s what it was. He was supposed to fight the giant brute. Everything leading up to this had just been a warm-up. His father trying to make it a “fair” fight.

He gripped the knife and pulled it out with a hiss, switching the blade to his other hand so he’d have a better grip.

Deckard glanced over at his siblings, surprised and horrified to see the blood staining strands of Hattie’s hair and dripping down the side of her neck.

He turned back to Victor. “You said you wouldn’t hurt them!”

“I said I’d free them if you won. I never told you’d they’d leave unscathed. Speaking of which,”

Victor drew the gun and pointed it at Hattie. “A little incentive.”

He fired.

Two sounds filled the empty warehouse in succession:

The first, the sound of Hattie shrieking in pain as Victor shot her knee.

The second, the sound of metal scraping against concrete as the folding chair shifted beneath her as she lost her footing. Her scream was cut off at the rope tightened around her throat again.

Deckard stared in horror at the spray of blood. Hattie’s pained cry felt like a knife in his chest. And he leapt into action when the chair slid out from under her. 

Before he could reach his sister Michail swung with a fist, catching Deckard in the stomach and knocking him to the ground.

Deckard coughed and gasped. He knew he needed to focus if he wanted to win this fight. But that was impossible when Hattie was dying.

He rolled, just barely missing having Michail stun him with the cattle prod again. Deckard let the momentum propel him closer to Hattie’s chair. Swinging out with his leg, he kicked it closer. But Hattie was only able to touch it with the tip of her boot before swinging away again.

Deckard pushed himself to a standing position, wincing when he put pressure on his wounded hand.

But before he could help, Michail swung again, this time managing to strike Deckard in between the shoulder blades. He cried out, falling to his knees.

“You’re boring me.” Michail bellowed, reaching down, gripping Deckard’s shirt, and swinging him away from his siblings. “Fight back.”

Deckard felt the wind get knocked from his lungs when his back struck one of the large metal containers in the center of the room.

As Michail slowly marched toward him, he saw Owen intentionally swing from his own tentative perch and nudge Hattie’s chair a little closer toward his sister. With his help, she was able to catch it with her good leg, alleviating the pressure around her neck. But with the pain and blood loss, she wouldn’t last long.

“Well done.” Victor clapped slowly as Owen managed to regain his own footing. He directed the next statement at Deckard. “You have five minutes to kill Michail. If you fail, they die.”

Five minutes. Deckard thought to himself, trying to spot any weaknesses as the mercenary quickened his approach. That wasn’t a lot of time.

He glanced to where Luke was watching from his own restraints. Hobbs gave a slight reassuring nod. It was enough to bring a slight smile to Deckard’s lips. He strengthened his hold on the knife and took a leveling breath. He could do this.

Michail swung with the cattle prod. He had brute force on his side. But Deckard had speed and agility. He was able to side-step the giant Russian and slice the man’s chest with the knife.

He heard rather than saw Michail smash into the container. A satisfying clang bounced off the walls of the space.

Deckard took the opportunity to slash at the back of the Russian’s legs, wounding the man even further. But it only seemed to enrage him. 

Michail pushed off the container and used the momentum to swing at Deckard.

He was able to dodge the blows, leaping out of reach with each potential strike. Deckard was tempted to throw the knife, but that would leave him defenseless. He had to be smart. Just because the other man was slower than Deckard didn’t mean he still couldn’t hurt him.

“Three minutes past.” Victor said.

Deckard clenched his teeth. He had to be fast too.

Michail charged again. But this time Deckard held his ground.

“What are you doing?” Luke shouted.

Deckard gripped his knife and leapt at the Russian the same time the other man did.

They met midair. Michail’s mass barreled into him, folding Deckard around his larger frame. 

Exactly what Deckard had planned.

He ignored the sharp pain in his torso and let the momentum bury the knife deep into the brute’s shoulder.

Michail screamed, tearing Deckard off of him and throwing him with all his strength.

Deckard felt at least one of his ribs break on impact as he hit and slid down an old brick wall. He groaned in pain and crumpled to his knees, trying to get the pain under control. But the damage was stacking up and making white spots dance across his vision. Fortunately, Michail was too busy trying to pull the knife from his back to take advantage of his vulnerable state.

Deckard bunched his hands into fists. He’d hoped the attack would take down Michail, but it had been a gamble that didn’t pay off.

He grabbed a brick off the ground, bracing himself against the wall as he stood. 

“Hey asshole, you had enough yet?” He gritted his teeth.

Michail growled, finally yanking the knife from his shoulder and releasing an angry spurt of blood. But before either of them could make another move, Victor spoke.

“Time’s up.” He raised the gun and spoke to the remaining mercenaries. “Take care of the others.”

Two shots rang out, and Deckard could only watch as his father expertly shot the chairs out from beneath Owen and Hattie.

The two of them tensed as their weight pulled the ropes tight around their necks, leaving them to struggle to find purchase where it didn’t exist.

“Hobbs!” Deckard shouted. He absently noted the two mercenaries disappearing down one of the hallways. But he had bigger problems to worry about right now.

Fortunately, Luke understood. Within a moment he was yanking on his restraints with all his might, tearing the ring from the concrete and freeing himself. Within moments, he was bolting toward Hattie and Owen.

And then Victor trained the gun on Hobbs.

Deckard looked from Michail’s charging force to his father. He had only a second to make a decision. And it was an easy one.

With his dwindling energy he threw the brick at Victor, striking him in the head and sending him crumpling to the ground.

With that threat neutralized, Luke was able to reach Owen and Hattie and use his height and strength to lift them to his shoulders. The nooses around their necks slackened, and the two of them took big gulping gasps of air.

The relief was short-lived, because in the next moment Michail had tackled Deckard to the ground.

“Fight is not over yet.” The Russian stated, lifting Deckard and smashing him back into the concrete.

Deckard winced as his head cracked against the floor. His vision continued to blur under the assault. And it didn’t help that blood from Michail’s shoulder was dripping into his face. He had to do something.

He spit the blood back at Michail and blindly groped around until he found another brick. Desperately, Deckard smashed it against the side of the Russian’s skull.

The larger man shouted and fell to the side, giving Deckard a chance to crawl out from his grasp.

Deckard called out to Luke. “You doing alright, big guy?” 

“You’re asking _me_ that?” Luke stared. Owen was standing balanced on one of his shoulders. He must have managed to chew through his gag, because he was using his newly freed mouth to work at the ropes still attached to the iron beam above their heads.

Deckard smiled as he grabbed a third brick and turned on Michail. But before he could inflict anymore damage, a large hand encircled his throat and lifted him off the ground.

“Deckard!” He heard Luke call, but both of them were powerless to stop Michail as he knocked Deckard against a concrete wall.

His feet kicked out beneath him, trying to find something to alleviate the pressure around his throat, but the more he struggled, the more the grip around his airways tightened.

Michail pulled Deckard away from the wall and slammed him into it again, temporarily stunning him. “You have good fight in you.” The words were slightly distorted by his accent.

Even in his dazed state, Deckard still started as he felt a thigh slide between his legs. He refocused, staring uneasily at the man keeping him pinned.

“I wonder if that spirit could be used elsewhere.” The Russian stared hungrily at him.

Deckard shuddered and swallowed, trying to stay calm against the new kind of threat.

Grinning, Michail pressed his thigh higher, grinding against his crotch. “If you behave like good little bitch, maybe I keep you alive.”

Deckard stopped struggling and let his weight settle on Michail’s thigh. He ignored the greasy smile he got in response. 

A moment was all he needed to catch his breath and pull himself up on Michail’s arm and use the man’s thigh as a springboard, propelling Deckard upward with enough momentum to kick Michail in the throat. He kept his shoe pressed against the Russian’s cervical vertebra as Michail fell back, so when he struck the ground Deckard was standing upright with his full weight crushing Michail’s neck beneath his sole, killing the man instantly.

“Damn.”

Deckard glanced up to see Hobbs staring at him in shock. He gave a tired laugh and looked down at himself, noting the dirt mixing with Michail’s blood along with his own.

He was planning on saying something snarky, maybe making a comment about how he had to do everything himself. 

But then a shot rang out, and Deckard felt a bullet tear into his chest.

* * *

Owen had just managed to bite through the rope suspending Hattie and maneuvering the rope off her neck when he heard the first shot.

He whipped his head around, staring in shock as two more shots sent Deckard crumpling to the ground like a broken marionette. He followed the trajectory of the bullets back to the perpetrator.

Blood was dripping down Victor Shaw’s face as he stared emotionless, still pointing his gun at Deckard’s fallen body.

“No!” Owen leapt from Luke’s shoulders at his father. Victor pointed the gun at him, but Owen was faster.

They tumbled to the ground, rolling and grappling for the weapon. Despite his age, Victor was still a physical force to be reckoned with. But Owen had rage on his side, and was quickly able to pry the gun from his father’s grip.

“Get on your knees.” He ordered, stepping back so he was no longer within arm’s reach. When Victor didn’t respond immediately, he shouted. “On your knees!”

His father’s mouth was set in a thin line, but he followed Owen’s orders.

“Hattie?” He called over his shoulder.

“I’m alright.” She appeared beside him as Agent Hobbs helped her sit down in one of the metal chairs. Her hair clung to her head from the blood and sweat, and she was obviously in a great deal of pain, but she was alive.

One concern covered; Owen moved onto the next. “Hobbs.”

“On it.” The ex-DSS agent was already running over to Deckard.

Owen desperately wanted to do the same, but he didn’t trust his father not to try something.

“It’s too late. The three of you might walk out of here alive, I don’t care.” Victor shrugged. “I’ve already won.”

The Shaws all turned as the sound of gunfire echoed down the corridor where the two other mercenaries had disappeared.

Victor grinned. “And it looks like Toretto and your other friends have just run out of time as well.”

“He’s alive!” Hobbs’s shout immediately wiped the smile off Victor’s face as everyone turned to where the Samoan was kneeling. “Pulse is weak, but he’s still breathing.”

Owen turned his attention back to his father with renewed triumph, his finger itching to pull the trigger. Their father hadn’t won yet.

“Are you going to kill me, Owen?” Victor raised an eyebrow, tilting his head so the burned side of his face was on display. He looked up at him with his clouded eye, trying to act like he hadn’t already been beaten. “Your brother tried before, and he failed. You really think you can do better?”

Owen almost pulled the trigger right then and there. He’s endured an entire childhood of his father making him feel worthless. He didn’t have to take it anymore.

“O.’” Hattie spoke.

Owen looked over at his sister and saw understanding in her eyes. She nodded.

He wasn’t the only victim. The entire reason they were here was because Deckard was trying to protect them. It was about time they returned the favor.

Without a word, Owen walked over and helped Hattie to her feet.

“Smart decision.” Victor admonished. “Maybe you’ll actually succeed if you're both pulling the trigger.”

“No,” Hattie winced, letting Owen carry most of her weight. She took the gun from her brother’s hand and pointed it at her father. “We can take turns.”

Without further warning, she fired.

Victor shouted in pain and surprise. He clutched the side of his head, feeling the blood spill from where his ear used to be.

“Stand up.” Hattie ordered.

Owen watched as their father looked up at them, shock and anger flashing in his undamaged eye. He repeated his sister’s command. “You heard her. Stand up.”

Victor sneered, but eventually raised himself to a standing position. He opened his mouth to speak, most likely to continue to condescend and belittle them, but instead he screamed as Hattie shot him in the knee. He collapsed to the ground, clutching at the new wound.

“Ungrateful bastards.” He growled. “You’d be nothing without me, you know that right? Everything you are, you owe to me.”

“That’s precisely the point.” Owen said, taking the gun back from Hattie. “Every painful memory, every betrayal, every scar. They were all because of you.”

He released the gun’s magazine clip and checked its contents. One bullet left. Pity.

“But my siblings were there every step of the way. Deckard and Hattie soothed every burn and cleaned every wound. We taught each other strength, endurance, and most importantly, love.” Owen pointed the gun at his father, aiming directly between the eyes. “I owe everything to them.”

He pulled the trigger.

Victor Shaw’s lifeless body fell to the floor of the abandoned facility. And as dust and dry leaves settling around his corpse, none more valuable than the other, Owen exhaled.

“Deckard…” Hattie whispered, immediately reminding Owen that this wasn’t over. 

He dropped the gun and wrapped his arms around his sister’s waist, carefully helping her over to where Hobbs was applying pressure to the wounds on Deckard’s torso.

“How bad is it?” Hattie asked, her face contorting in pain as she half knelt, half sat beside her brother.

Hobbs looked between the two siblings. “It’s bad. He needs to get to a hospital.” He glanced at Hattie’s leg. “You both do.”

Owen wordlessly knelt on the other side of his brother and began applying pressure to the wounds that Hobbs was unable to.

Deckard looked terrible. He was covered in blood, although not all of it was his. Regardless, the dark color heavily contrasted his deathly pale skin. If it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Owen would swear his brother was already gone. And if they didn’t do something quick, he would be.

Owen ran through all their options in his head. Hattie couldn’t go for the car because of her leg, and she also couldn’t drive. If they carried Deckard to the car, they risked doing more damage during transport. If he or Luke went for the car, they’d still have to figure out how to safely carry him between the two of them. But there were just too many wounds, and no matter how he played it through, Deckard wouldn’t make it. They just needed more people.

“Anybody home?”

Like a gift from the universe itself, the sound of Dominic Toretto’s voice echoed from the tunnel that the gunshots had previously come from.

Owen called over his shoulder, careful not to release the pressure he was administering against Deckard’s chest. “Over here!”

A short moment later, Toretto and the rest of his team emerged, with Dom and Letty brandishing the rifles that previously belonged to the mercenaries. 

Hobbs looked over at the group in confusion.

_ Right _ , Owen thought. Hobbs had no idea they were involved in all of this.

To his credit though, Luke was quick to return to the emergency at hand. There would be plenty of time to swap stories later.

“Dom! There’s a black Mercedes-Benz parked a block away. I need someone to get it and drive it as close to this place’s entrance as possible. Everyone else needs to start helping us make some kind of stretcher.”

Hobbs continued to bark orders, which everyone promptly followed, and despite their own antagonistic past, Owen found himself feeling thankful for the ex-DSS agent’s presence.

It was a surprising feeling. One that nestled in Owen’s mind as he watched how tenderly Luke touched his older brother, and how concerned he was when it came time to move him.

Owen was grateful for Luke Hobbs. That confusing thought kept him company during their entire harrowing journey to the hospital.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is finally here!  
> I'm so sorry about the long wait in between updates. I got a little wrapped up in my fic-exchange project. Hopefully this final update makes up for it!  
> Thank you again for all your support toward this story. Your comments have meant the world and made all the difference. And thank you for staying with this story all the way through. I hope you liked it!  
> You can find me at possiblypogue on tumblr.

It was night by the time Luke managed to talk his way into being able to see Deckard.

Only family had been allowed to follow the nurses into the emergency room, leaving Luke to pace the waiting room the entire time Deckard was being operated on. It had been hours before one of the staff came out to tell him that Mr. Bishop was stable.

He’d needed a moment to remember that Deckard was probably going by the fake German ID he’d mentioned on the train.

The news had been a relief, but all Luke wanted was to see that Deckard was alright with his own eyes. He wanted to finally get the chance to talk about the things that had been said, that had been admitted, during Deckard’s reunion with his father.

The hallway was dimly lit, with the only sound coming from Luke’s boots as they echoed off the linoleum tile.

He’d created a story just in case he came across the hospital’s night shift. He was working with the local law enforcement and following up on a lead regarding the underground smuggling ring that had operated behind the Liebe night club.

It wasn’t perfect, but he figured it would buy him some time.

Luke shouldn’t have been surprised that he wasn’t the only guest in Deckard’s hospital room.

Owen was sleeping on a couch sitting up, his head bent at an angle that made Luke give his own neck a sympathetic rub before turning his attention to the bed. Hattie was tucked beside Deckard, her arm protectively resting across his chest. It couldn’t have been comfortable, especially with her leg in a full cast propped up on a chair beside the bed. 

Both the younger Shaws were sporting ugly bruises around their necks from where the rope tried to squeeze the life out of them. Deckard had his own bruises marking his neck from Michail’s hands.

Despite that, he looked a little better since the last time Luke saw him. Then again, the other man had been on the brink of death by the time they got him to the hospital, so any change would be an improvement. The blood had been washed off, visible cuts stitched closed, and sleep helped smooth out the angry creases that usually inhabited his face. 

“He hasn’t woken up yet.”

He turned to where Owen was massaging his neck and stretching on the couch. “The nurses said he’s stable, his body just needs time to recover.”

Luke nodded; he didn’t know what else to say. He jerked his head in the direction of Hattie. “So, did she crawl here herself or…?”

“Nah.” Owen toed a wheelchair that Luke hadn’t noticed before. “I helped wheel her in. If I hadn’t, she would have dragged herself here anyway. I figured if I helped it’d look less pathetic.” 

“How considerate of you.” Luke deadpanned.

“We _do_ care about each other. In our own way.” Owen settled into the couch and gave him a leveling stare. It was softened somewhat by the way sleep weighed his eyelids down, forcing him to blink and rub at them.

Luke leaned back against the counter behind him, adopting a less imposing stance as he looked back at Deckard. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a time, dwelling on the events of the past few days. Luke knew there would be time to hear about everything Owen and Hattie had gone through. Dom had filled in some of the blanks before heading back to the states. But the Shaw siblings were the only people who could probably put everything in context.

After a moment, Luke jerked his chin in Deckard’s direction. “So Mr. Jonas Bishop has siblings too?”

“We try to keep a few matching IDs just in case.” Owen shrugged. “Makes it easier for when something like this comes up.”

“Makes sense.” Luke murmured. Although inwardly, he wondered if literally anyone else besides the Shaws would have thought up that kind of a contingency plan. Or ever deemed it necessary.

But then again, the Shaws weren’t what anyone would have considered normal.

“So. You and my brother.”

Luke’s head snapped back to Owen, trying to read the other man’s practiced neutral expression. “Um, yeah.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed. “Since when?”

He struggled not to squirm under the younger Shaw’s gaze. It felt like he was standing on ice that was growing increasingly more unstable. One wrong move and...

“I don’t exactly know.” Luke figured honesty was probably the best plan of action. “I think I figured it out pretty recently myself. It kind of happened slowly over the past few days.”

At first he thought the silence was a bad sign. Any second now the man was going to lash out. 

He was surprised when Owen only scoffed and relaxed into the couch. “Well at least you’re not one of those smooth-talking types with a bunch of rehearsed romantic lines.”

Luke bit back the sarcastic ‘thanks’ that was on the tip of his tongue. He figured if he really wanted to try and make him and Deckard work, he should probably try and stay on the younger Shaws’ good side.

“Hobbs?” Owen was resting his head on the back of the couch, peering at him with a laser-like focus. He waited until Luke met his gaze before continuing. “Do you remember how easily Deckard crushed that giant Russian’s throat beneath his feet, despite all his injuries?”

“Yes…?” Luke answered slowly. 

Owen nodded after a weighted silence. “Good. Don’t forget it anytime soon.”

Luke felt his jaw slacken a little. Whether out of surprise, or to deliver some kind of response, he didn’t know. But before he could decide, both men’s attention was diverted to the doorway as a nurse in grey scrubs appeared.

“Mr. Bishop.” He greeted Owen before glancing at Hobbs with a curious stare. He turned back to Owen. “We weren’t allowing guests at this hour.”

Luke was about to jump into his planned explanation but was interrupted before he could start.

“I have never seen this man before in my life.” Owen shook his head, eyes widening as he gave the nurse a distressed stare. Luke absently marveled at how quickly he’d switched to a German accent. “He just walked in here and refused to leave.”

What a little bastard.

“O’.” Hattie' groggy voice cut in. She’d adopted a German accent too. The threatening tone was slightly undermined by the yawn that seemed to take over her entire face. She stretched and looked over to the nurse. 

“He’s a friend of the family.” She gave Luke a meaningful stare. “A close one.”

The night nurse gave the three of them a skeptical stare, but eventually shrugged and left to continue his rounds.

“How’re you doing?” Luke gestured to her leg, grateful for the youngest Shaw’s intervention.

Hattie shook her head and resituated herself beside Deckard. “I’m fine. I’ll be back to running laps around the lot of you in no time.”

He snorted, not doubting that in the slightest. But he had a feeling that Deckard would have something to say once he woke up.

“I’m hungry.” Hattie said, pointedly looking at Owen.

He glared back long enough for Luke to realize the two siblings were in a staring match. Eventually Owen sighed and rose from the couch, adopting a bone-tired stride as he left to find them something to eat.

“Don’t mind him.” Hattie spoke. “He’s just overly suspicious of anyone interested in his siblings.”

Luke nodded and moved closer to the bed. “But not you?” 

Hattie lifted her cast from the chair so he could sit, then rested her leg on his lap. 

She tilted her head from side to side, as if weighing her words.

“I’ve seen how you and my brother are together. You’re good for him.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “But don’t think that I won’t keep my eye on you, Hobbs. Deck’s had his heart broken before. And Owen would be more than happy to help hide your body.”

Once again, he knew she meant it. Because if he’d learned anything about the Shaw siblings, it was that they believed each other came first. And they weren’t afraid of spilling blood for family.

Luke made sure to meet her gaze. “That’s not going to happen.”

Hattie looked into his eyes, and her own softened. “Funny enough, I think I believe that.”

The cell phone resting on the bed sheets began vibrating. Hattie picked it up, rolled her eyes, then tossed it back on the bed. 

From where he was sitting, Luke could see the name ‘Magdalene Shaw’ flash across the screen.

“You’re not going to pick up? She’s probably worried about you guys.”

Hattie glared at him. “And she could have stepped in and helped us instead of going off the grid at the first sign of Victor. Do you honestly think it's a coincidence that she’s reaching out now that he’s dead?”

Luke looked back at the phone as it fell silent again. There was apparently still so much he didn’t know or understand about this family. 

He spoke carefully, not wanting to make any unintentional missteps. “I’ve never met the woman, but from what Toretto and Deckard mentioned of her, she didn’t strike me as the type to be afraid of the man.”

“She wasn’t.” Hattie shook her head and pulled the blankets up so they covered Deckard a little bit better. “She’s just a survivalist. By staying off the board, she remained neutral so she could side with whoever won.”

Her phone vibrated again. She sighed and glanced back at the device before turning back to Luke, her eyes begging for understanding. “I’ll call her eventually, I just… I need time.”

“Hey,” He raised his hands. “If anyone’s going to understand that sometimes forgiving family takes time, it’s me.”

She smiled at that, most likely remembering how conflicted Hobbs had been about going back to Samoa after all those years.

Her brow furrowed. “Where’s Sam been through all this?”

“She’s staying with family.” Luke’s chest ached from missing her, but he knew his daughter was in good hands. “I’m looking forward to seeing her again though.”

Hattie seemed suddenly very interested in a thread on one of the blankets. She twirled it around her finger and pulled it tight. 

“Deckard won’t expect you to be here when he wakes up.” She said. “He doesn’t expect a lot from people.”

The rest of what Hattie probably wanted to say remained unspoken, but Luke heard them all the same.

Deckard wouldn’t expect him to stay, but it would mean a lot if he did.

“You really thought I’d leave you to babysit your brothers all on your own?” Luke settled into the chair. He tilted his head and smiled. “Come on now.”

And from the relieved smile that briefly graces Hattie’s face, he knew he’d made the right decision.

They sat in a pleasant silence until Owen returned, armed with two sandwiches that were most likely retrieved from a vending machine. Luke didn’t mind that the middle Shaw didn’t bring him a sandwich, he just hoped Owen had at least paid for them. The hospital staff probably wouldn’t appreciate finding out one of their machines had been broken into.

Owen tossed one of the wrapped sandwiches to Hattie. He glanced at Hobbs as he relaxed back into the couch. “You’re still here then?”

Luke shrugged. “Not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.” 

“Damn.” Owen sighed and peeled away at the wrapping. “You better settle into that chair then because I’m not sharing the couch.”

“Well if you want, I could always see about finding you a nice cozy room in prison somewhere.” Luke pointed at him. “You’re still a wanted man, you know.”

Owen took a large bite out of his sandwich and smiled. “No one likes a tattle-tale.”

Luke could tell the other man knew it was an empty threat. But that was kind of the point. After meeting Hattie, he noticed that the Shaws seemed to think swapping threats and insults was some form of bonding. He figured the same tactic could be used with Owen as well. And he was right.

The trio easily settled into a comfortable exchange of good-natured barbs while filling in details from the past few days. Owen even shared a corner of his sandwich with Luke.

Well, he tore off a corner, balled it up, and tossed it at Luke in retaliation to a comment about exactly what he was doing while Deckard and Hattie were on the run from Brixton. But that was probably as close to sharing as he’d ever get.

It was strange. If someone would have told Luke a few years ago that he’d be congenitally sitting in a room with Owen Shaw (a man he actively hunted for over a year) and his _criminal-depending-on-the-day’s-events_ siblings, he would have laughed in their face.

Doubly so if someone told him he’d have romantic feelings for one of those _criminal-depending-on-the-day’s-events_ siblings. And heaven help him if that hypothetical person bothered to specify _which_ Shaw he’d develop feelings for.

Luke looked over to where Deckard was still unconscious on the bed. The only signs of life coming from the heart-monitor and the slow and steady rise and fall of Shaw’s chest.

In some ways, it would have been nice to know he had feelings for Deckard sooner. They could have saved a lot of time. He wondered when Deckard knew.

But that was something to talk with him about once he woke up.

He’d just have to wait a little while longer.

* * *

It had been four days since Deckard woke up in that German hospital. Which meant it had been three days since he’d been flown home and been placed in mandatory bedrest (strictly enforced by his siblings).

Deckard glanced over his shoulder as he shuffled into the hallway. He wanted to take advantage of the fact that this was the first time he’d been left alone in the past seventy-two hours.

It wouldn’t be a long journey. The kitchen was only a few quick strides from his room.

Correction. The kitchen was _normally_ only a few quick strides from his room.

But it seemed that the house had decided to stretch a few meters or so while he was away. Because Deckard's chest was protesting after only a few steps outside his bedroom. He stretched out a hand to rest against the wall and catch his breath, but he must have miscalculated that as well, because before he had a chance to respond, Deckard found himself toppling towards the floor.

“Whoa now!” A familiar voice called out as big muscular arms wrapped around his torso and caught him. “What are you doing up?”

Deckard twisted around and stared at the towering figure above him. “Practicing ballet. What’s it look like I’m doing?” 

He pushed at Luke’s chest, despite knowing that the giant Samoan was the only thing keeping him from becoming reacquainted with the dark pinewood under their feet. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Luke rolled his eyes as he helped him up to lean against the wall. “I’ve been here the whole time. Don’t tell me your brain got scrambled so bad that you don’t remember the past couple days.”

Of course Deckard remembered everything. He remembered waking up and blurrily recognizing vague shapes moving around and asking if he was alright. And he distinctly remembered hearing Luke’s voice amidst that chaos.

That had been confusing at first. Then maybe a little embarrassing. No one besides family was usually around when he woke up in a hospital, so Deckard didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to Hobbs’ presence.

It was a nice feeling; he was able to acknowledge that. But Deckard wasn’t about to admit that out loud. He had a reputation to keep up, after all.

"I remember you sobbing over my hospital bed like some bereaved widow."

Luke shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty sure that was Owen."

Deckard scoffed and took a step towards the kitchen but stumbled and caught by Luke again.

"You shouldn't be walking around just yet. You could hurt yourself." Luke helped steady him and tried to lead him back to bed.

Hattie had nabbed a copy of Deckard's hospital file for him. He knew how bad the damage had been. Hell, he’d be reminded of the damage every time he looked in the mirror for a long time. If someone else had suffered the same injuries he'd be saying the same thing.

But Deckard had dealt with this kind of pain before. He could handle it.

"I'm not an invalid." He said, trying to step out of Hobbs' grasp. But the larger man was persistent.

"I know. But your siblings promised to murder me if I let you hurt yourself while they were away."

“Lucky for you I’m not planning on hurting myself while I walk to my own kitchen.” Deckard tugged himself free from Hobbs’s loose grip and managed to take a few more steps. He was already feeling a little better, although he was a little tired now.

“Exactly.” Luke said from behind him. And for a moment he thought he’d won that little battle. But then he felt arms wrap around his torso and haul him off his feet as gently as possible. “Because you’re going back to your room.”

Deckard squawked, (partly in indignation and partly in pain) as Hobbs squeezed his ribs a little too tight. But to his credit, Luke immediately eased up and switched Deckard to a more comfortable position as gently as possible.

“Normally I’d make you buy me dinner before taking me to bed.” Deckard protested weakly, even as he instinctively wrapped his arms around Luke’s neck for support. That tired feeling was beginning to fade into exhaustion.

“Normally, I would have wooed you for a month or so before actually sweeping you off your feet.”

“Is that not what you’ve _been_ doing?” He rested his head on Luke’s shoulder, nearly tucking into the crook of his neck. “I thought meeting your family was a big step for us.”

“Ha. Ha.” Luke deadpanned, setting him back into bed. He reached for the blankets.

Deckard glared. “If you try to tuck me in, I’ll stab you.” 

“With wha--”

Deckard pulled a knife out from under a pillow. He quietly appreciated that Luke didn’t even look surprised. If anything, he looked only mildly annoyed.

Luke reached out and took the knife. “What were you even planning on using that for?”

“Well apparently I’m going to have to use it to hunt and forage for food since you’re keeping me captive in my own bedroom.” Deckard reached for his knife, but Luke easily snatched it out of reach.

The Samoan looked to the heavens with a smile. “Oh, the jokes I could make about keeping you captive in a bedroom…”

“And yet you never put your money where your mouth is.” 

Luke looked back at him. A different, more cautious kind of smile on his face. “About that… I was hoping we could talk.”

Damn. 

Deckard inwardly winced. He’d been dreading this conversation. In fact, he’d almost hoped Luke would fly back to LA before they had to have this talk.

“Right.” He swallowed. His eyes darted around the room before coming back to Luke. “Listen, about what my father said, I didn’t--”

“I did.”

* * *

Luke quietly appreciated the surprised look on Deckard’s face. It wasn’t often he was able to catch the Brit off guard.

He took a deep breath, not wanting to lose his nerve.

“I meant what I said. It wasn’t some spur of the moment ‘oh we might die’ thing. I like you. Now, don’t get me wrong, you’re an annoying, prickly little bastard. And sometimes I think it’d be easier to work with a bad-tempered mule. Like the one that bit and stomped all over that mountain lion a while back. And the craziest thing is, despite how much of an asshole you are,”

Deckard propped himself up and squinted at him. “Is this going somewhere?”

“Yes.” Luke pressed forward without missing a beat. “And the craziest thing is, the only thing worse than you, is the thought of my life without you.”

He watched as Deckard’s carefully neutral expression faltered only fractionally. It was a change that a stranger, or a casual observer, might not have noticed. But Luke was neither of those.

“And unless I’m very wrong, I think you might feel the same.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Luke didn’t think he breathed the entire time as he waited for a response. He knew full well that nothing Hattie or Owen said (or how Luke felt), mattered if Deckard didn’t feel the same.

“Nah.” Deckard looked down, finally breaking the silence. “I don't think you’re a prickly little bastard.” 

He looked up at him. “I _do_ think you’re a giant oaf of a human-being who wouldn’t know subtly if it threw you out a four-story building.”

“I _jumped_ out of the--”

“--But the funny thing is, I like that about you. I like that you’re honest and direct and don’t pull your punches. I like that you can hold your own when it comes to my family. And it pains me to admit this, but I like you Luke Hobbs.”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he’d actually get this far.

Or at least, he didn’t think he’d get this far without at least another hour’s worth of insults thrown back and forth.

He cleared his throat. “Really?”

“To my greatest shame.” Deckard looked genuinely pained to admit it, but Luke didn’t care. 

He felt a grin slowly spread across his face. “You... Like me.”

Deckard groaned and laid back on the bed. “Don’t make me say it again, it’s embarrassing.”

“You. Like. Me.” Luke sat down beside him, leaning over so he was hovering above his face. His voice adopted a more sincere tone. “When did you know for sure?”

Shaw glared at him a moment before rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Since the second verse of Hey Jude.”

Luke didn’t think he could be any happier. That is until Deckard reached up and pulled him down for a quick chaste kiss.

A kiss that lingered, and then slowly melted into something that could be considered anything but chaste.

Deckard’s lips parted, allowing Luke full access to his mouth which he took complete advantage of. He groaned, pressing Deckard into the mattress and pushing a hand under the other man’s sweater.

But when his touch elicited a sharp hiss, he leaned back. “Are you okay?”

Deckard nodded and massaged his ribs. “Guess I’m still a little sore.”

Luke sat up and began to get off the bed. Of course he was sore. A few days ago he was literally hanging onto life by a thread. A normal person would still be in the hospital right now. Hell, they shouldn’t be trying anything close to this right now with the state he is in. But Luke was alright with waiting. They could take it slow until-

Deckard reached up and grabbed at his shirt, keeping him from moving any further away. “I said I’m sore, dickhead. Not made of glass.”

Luke felt himself being tugged back down. Instinctively, he braced his hands on either side of Deckard, so as not to accidentally hurt him. Shaw met him the rest of the way, arching upwards and pulling him into another bruising kiss.

But before they could take things any further, they were interrupted by the sound of Deckard’s front door being pushed open.

“Hello? Deck?” Hattie called.

Deckard groaned and fell back to his bed with a wince. He looked up at Luke and gave a slight laugh. “Some other time, big guy?”

Luke smiled. But internally, he was memorizing the feeling of Deckard’s breath against his skin. In retrospect, he probably should have gotten off the bed before the siblings arrived, but Luke was greedy.

“Oh, did we interrupt something?” Hattie’s amused laugh filled the room.

Both men turned toward the door frame where the two Shaws were standing.

“Did you seriously try to take advantage of my brother the second we left you alone with him?” Owen stomped into the room and set a large cardboard box down on the dresser.

Luke pulled himself away from Deckard and stood at what he would consider a respectful distance as Hattie approached to fuss over her oldest brother. He’d hoped neither of the younger siblings had noticed that he’d gotten a little… _excited_ while making out with Deckard. But considering the daggers Owen was glaring at him from across the room, Luke’s current state had definitely not gone unnoticed.

“I’ll have you know that my virtue is still very much intact.” Deckard protested, propping himself up against the headboard.

Hattie snorted in obvious amusement but directed her attention to the cardboard box. “We got you something.”

“Please tell me it’s food.” Deckard stared imploringly as his siblings while not-so-subtly jerking his head in Luke’s direction. “He refused to feed me.”

“Unbelievable.” Luke rolled his eyes. “What is it with you Shaws being so quick to throw me under the bus?"

"Because we know trying to throw you under a car would only damage the vehicle." Owen muttered.

“It’s better than food.” Hattie cut in, trying to get them back on track. 

“We got you…” She reached into the box and pulled out a fat brown tabby. “This!”

Luke stared at the round feline dangling in the women's grasp. It didn't look at all upset over its current position. If anything, it had an unimpressed look on its face as it bobbed in the air like a lazy slinky.

“You got me a cat?” Deckard let his sister set the amiable creature on the bed where it immediately made itself comfortable, flopping down at his side.

“He’s neutered.” Owen added, giving Luke a pointed glare.

“And you named him... Hobbs?” Deckard said, reading the metal tag attached to the tabby’s collar.

Hattie grinned. “We did.”

Luke didn’t know if he should feel honored or insulted. But as the tabby (he refused to call it by its given name) began purring as Deckard scratched it behind the ears, the only thing he felt was happiness. 

It was a nice change to see Deckard so at peace. Surrounded by people that cared about him outside of what he could do for them. Luke wondered when the last time was he, or any of the Shaw siblings for that matter, felt like this.

“Well I guess the two of you will have to get used to having Hobbs around then.”

Luke didn’t miss the furtive glance Deckard gave his siblings. He’d phrased the statement like he was teasing them, but there was something underneath that felt like he was testing the waters when it came to how they felt about the Hobbs that _wasn't_ a cat.

Hattie smiled and sat on the bed. The tabby didn't seem to even notice the jostling movement.

She ran a hand down the cat's round back, lazily tracing the dark stripes amidst brown fur. "I can't speak for O', but I've gotten quite used to having Hobbs around.”

Luke found himself copying Deckard and Hattie as they both looked over to where their brother was leaning against a wall with crossed arms.

Sensing their stares, Owen intentionally looked around the room anywhere _except_ at the other occupants. But after a moment he relented.

With an exaggerated sigh, he walked up to the bed and found a place beside his siblings. “I never was one for keeping pets. But if the mangy thing makes you happy…”

Deckard elbowed his brother and winced when the action hurt him more that it hurt Owen. But it did nothing to weaken the relieved smile on his face.

It was a nice change to see Deckard so happy. And Luke had to admit, it was heartwarming to also see the Shaws siblings interact while not actively trying to avoid (or cause) bodily harm. It reminded him of his own family back in Samoa. The thought sent an unexpected ache through his chest.

It's funny, he never realized how much he missed having a family until he met Deckard.

A hand gently wrapping around his wrist pulled Luke from his thoughts. He looked down to where Hattie gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and suddenly Luke felt a little less homesick.

"Well, this is about as much sappiness as I can handle.” Owen rose from the bed and glanced at Luke and his siblings. “I’m going to go and make us some supper.”

“Will there be afternoon tea as well? Or are we too late for that?” Luke asked, adopting a terrible British accent and speaking an octave or two higher than his usual voice.

Owen muttered something under his breath that Luke didn’t catch. Hattie must have though, considering the laugh she tried to disguise as a cough. She quickly recomposed herself and rose from the bed.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t burn the house down.” Hattie patted Deckard’s leg before following after Owen, giving Luke a little smile as she passed.

He returned the smile before turning his attention back to Deckard.

“So what do you think?” He sat on the edge of the bed. “You sure you’re ready for more than one Hobbs in your life?”

The brown tabby got to its feet and waddled over to collapse against Luke’s side. He patted its back and it began purring again.

Deckard reached out and began petting the cat too, letting their fingers occasionally grave each other. His hand was still bandaged up from the knife wound, it did nothing to diminish the tenderness of the situation. “I think I can handle that.”

“Me too.” Luke said.

Deckard glanced toward where his siblings had disappeared. Luke smiled, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“You want to go and make sure they don’t _both_ burn the place down, don’t you?”

“Yeah I really do.” Deckard nodded. “Last I checked, Owen can barely boil water.”

“Well I’d hate for you to end up homeless on their account.” Luke said, standing and watching Deckard try and do the same.

He stumbled a little, and Luke stretched out a hand to steady him.

“Want me to carry you, Princess?” He teased.

Deckard waved him away. “Nah, just help me walk there. You wouldn’t want me getting used to you carrying me everywhere, now would you?”

Luke wrapped an arm around Deckard’s least injured side, sliding it to his waist as he helped support the other man’s weight. 

“I don’t know…” He smiled. “If it means I get to keep you this close then I don’t think I’d mind.”

“You know something?” Deckard slid an arm around Luke as they walked together. He squinted up at him with a smile. “I don’t think I’d mind either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-Daah!!!  
> Thank you again for reading this fic all the way through! I hope you liked it. If you did, please let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think and if you'd like to see more!


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